


Rose Mallow

by etonnant67



Category: EXO (Band), SHINee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, M/M, Other Fandoms Not Mentioned in Tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:22:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6184063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etonnant67/pseuds/etonnant67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jongin has tried his best to leave his violent past behind, burying himself into his work and new life. But what happens when the very things he used to distance himself are pulling back to the very place--and person--he's been trying to escape?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sometimes the words come easy. Fingering flying across his keyboard, images, fragmented conversations, and sharp thoughts solidifying into words, then sentences, then complex stories on the page--Jongin has a special talent for taking the blur of the world and distilling it to the greatest clarity--a clarity that had won him a career crowning job as one of the star investigative reporters for the Korea Times all at odd defying age of 23.

 

 _We have a new assignment for you._ Song Daehwa, the editor in chief of the _Times_ had crowed at him last month. _This is your thing, you’re the only one who can really dig down and unwrap these assholes for what they really are._

 

Sitting stiffly in Daehwa’s chronically sweltering office with beads of sweat collecting on the back of his neck, Jongin tried to find a way out of his boss’s suggestion.There had been talk circulating around the department for the past few months about infiltrating the Korean branch of the yakuza, a gang and crime syndicate so large, so old, and so dangerous that they spanned multiple nations and were a household name half world over.

 

 _There’ve been a few nasty murders in Itaewon_ , Daehwa had continued, _and the police have been hitting dead ends. They don’t know where to turn and they called asking if they could borrow you._

 

He'd leaned forward placing his two massive hands on the desk top. A big, hefty man with a booming voice, Daehwa fit his job title perfectly. Known for his habit of speaking with his hands, Daehwa was flailing around,making everything around him shrink in comparison, and even larger than he actually was,. Most of the other reporters in the department were intimidated by Daehwa. Jongin never had been. He’d faced much worse.

 

But this time, Jongin looked at him incredulously. _Borrow me?_ He had responded, eyebrows shooting up _why me?!_

 

Jongin was known throughout the _Times_ and the Korean publishing world for seemingly effortless ability to get to the heart of any and all stories dealing with crime and corruption. Writing under the pen name Kim Kai, he had become a bit of a legend in the world of journalism. He had exposed a generations-long prostitution ring lead by many of the top chaebol CEOs and led to multiple arrests had uncovered a huge corruption money laundering scandal in one of the provincial governments and forced many officials to resign. He had a reputation for digging up the whole, hard nasty truth and sparing no one. Jongin was proud of his reputation. He was proud of his work. In some ways, he felt like it was his way of atoning for his past.

 

 _Because you have a knack for getting the good stuff_ , Daehwa had said with a smug look on his face. _You’re the best of the best. Hell, you’re better than they are. You know how to get into a community, get down to the dirty and figure out exactly what’s going on in a way that they haven’t even figured out. They want you to crack this for them. And in return, you get complete access to the case with full license to write it all up and publish it with us when it all over._

 

Daehwa had been grinning then, a big sleazy smile that showed off all of his too large teeth in his too small mouth.

 

 _This could be your biggest story ever! You could win the Pulitzer! Hell, WE could win the Pulitzer.You could break into the international scene! You find something good and the New York Times could even run the series in translation. This could. Be. It._ Daehwa had punctuated each word with a loud bang of his fist on the desk.

 

Jongin couldn’t bother to remind him that the Pulitzer was only a prize for American journalists.  Starting to feel a migraine coming on and feeling the sweat begin to pool at the collar of his shirt, Jongin had felt his resolve break. He’d been in Daehwa’s office for the better part of 2 hours, listening to him go on and on about this case. Jongin didn’t want to do it. But even he had known that this would be the opportunity of a lifetime. _Fine_ he had said, his voice tired and heavy with defeat.  _Fine._ _I’ll do it._

Daehwa had grinned his mismatched smile and sat back in his chair, folding his arms across his immense barrel chest. _That’s exactly what I knew you would say_. He picked up the phone and started to dial a number. _I’ll call Jinki over at the police headquarters now and let him know that you’re on board._

 

Jongin had wiped off the sweat that was pooling on his upper lip and sighed in resignation. _What’s the name of this branch of the yakuza again?_ He’d asked.

 

 _Mugunghwa_ , Daehwa had responded, phone up to his ear.

 

Jongin had felt his blood run cold. _Daehwa_ , he’d started, _Daehwa, I don’t think I can--_

 

 _What--?_  Daehwa had said, making eye contact with him, _Hello? Oh hey Jinki! I have great news!_

 

Jongin had sat there and listened to Daehwa confirm his commitment with the police force and felt a burning wave of nausea overtake him.

 

_Fuck._

  

So here Jongin was. Sitting at his tiny kitchen table in his disorganized apartment at two in the morning, staring at his glowing laptop screen and trying to figure out how the hell he was going to work on this story. Bleary eyed, Jongin tugged the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and closed his eyes. It wasn’t really a question of how Jongin would tell the story--he knew that once he had the material, it would be easy to weave the words together into something fit to print. No, the looming sense of anxiety that had been circulating around Jongin since that conversation in Daehwa’s office was because Jongin would have to dive back into a world he had so carefully tried to excise himself from.

 

_He could remember the late July night when he and Taemin sat on the roof of the impounded apartment building they were squatting in with 15 other teenagers when they had come up with the name. The local branch of the Kkang-Pae had seized the building about a month ago and was using it as a storage space for the cocaine and guns they were distributing and as a kind of dormitory for their younger members and distributors. Jongin and Taemin both knew that it was only a matter of time before the police discovered the place and they would be forced to move. But until then, it was as close to home as they were gonna get._

 

_It had been the hottest July on record and despite the fact that it was closer to early morning than night, all of Seoul seemed to be awake, thrumming with the nervous energy of the heat waves. They had fled to the roof to escape the heat and noise of the other bodies crammed into the rooms beneath them. The roof seemed like the only place that the long fingers of the heat and chaos of below couldn’t quite reach them and they revealed in their relative freedom._

 

_The two of them were shirtless sitting shoulder to shoulder despite the heat; Taemin only in his underwear, drinking their way through a 12 pack of beer and sharing joint after joint. Jongin remembers tilting his head to the side and resting it on Taemin’s slightly sweaty shoulder. The world around them had dulled to a quiet hum, the sound of the cars racing on the street below them blurring into a soft trill and the bright lights of the buildings around them a soft blur. The sky was the velvety ink gold of the night’s end. Jongin remembers wishing the sky would fall and blanket them in its beauty._

 

_“Jonginnie?” Jongin remembers the exact tenor of Taemin’s voice, rough from the hours of drinking and smoking. He had reached over to card his fingers through Jongin’s sweat damp hair. “Let’s not live like this anymore?”_

 

_Jongin remembers the uncertain certainty in Taemin’s half question, the tremor in the anymore and the pleading in his voice._

 

_“What do you mean?” Jongin remembers looking up to see Taemin’s face, even more beautiful in the backdrop of the sky, his hair (too long and dyed too brown) falling around his face and his teeth chewing on his bottom lip._

 

_“I mean let’s take control.” Taemin had responded “Let’s not have to live at their mercy. Let’s set our own terms. Let’s do it all on our own.”_

 

_“Like take over?” Jongin remembers playing along, convinced that being crossed was making Tae talk funny._

 

_“Nah. I mean like start out on our own. Like start our own branch. Give these motherfuckers a run for their money. Do it bigger and better.” Jongin remembers being shocked out of his dreamy daze by the sheer conviction in Taemin’s voice. He locked eyes with his older friend._

 

_“You serious?”_

 

_“Dead serious.” Taemin ran his hand down the side of Jongin’s neck and down his spine, sending chilling tingles through his body. “I’m tired of living like this. We can do better. We’re smarter than these idiots. We can have control.” Jongin remembers the feel of Taemin’s fingers against the small of his back. Jongin remembers the feel of the alcohol, weed, and determination in Taemin’s voice leaving him completely enthralled._

 

_“Yeah,” Jongin remembers saying, almost in a whisper. “Yeah, you’re right.”_

 

_Jongin remembers the feel of Taemin’s lips against his, somehow hotter than the night air and softer than the velvet of the sky. Jongin remembers losing himself in the minute touch._

 

_“What’ll we call it?” Taemin had asked as he pulled away._

 

_“Mugunghwa,” Jongin remembers the word slipping out of his mouth. He had been reading old Korean history books that he’d snatched from a library’s dumpster a few weeks ago. “Let’s name it after something beautiful. Something Korean. Something no one will ever be able to ignore.”_

 

_Jongin remembers the loud bell peal of Taemin’s laughter._

 

_“You’re fucking ridiculous and a raging romantic, you know that? You and your words.” Jongin remembers Taemin’s beat of silence. “But I like it. Mugunghwa.” Jongin remembers watching Taemin turn the word over in his head. “Hell yeah. Let’s do it.”_

 

_Jongin remembers Taemin draping his mostly naked body over his after that, soft and beautiful like the night. He remembers the heat that filled both their bodies, hot and thrumming like the air._

  


Jongin opened his eyes and stared back at the pulsating glow of his laptop. Tomorrow was his first day working with the investigative branch of the police force. He glanced at the time in the bottom corner of the screen and groaned. 3 am now. He was due to report to this Lee Jinki person at 7 am. With a resigned sigh, he shutdown his computer and got up to go to bed. He was afraid for tomorrow. He was afraid for what would happen. He was afraid to go back. He was afraid to go back into the orbit of someone he had tried his damnedest to forget.


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you have an appointment?” She’d asked, her voice clipped and professional. Her eyes darted up and down and Jongin felt like he could feel her gaze penetrating down to his bones. He swallowed heavily and glanced at the nameplate on her chest. _Park Sunyong. No matter how many investigative jobs he went on, he still couldn’t shake the feeling of uneasiness that came over him whenever he had to work with police officers._

 

“Yeah I do,” he responded hoping that his discomfort didn’t bleed into his voice. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’m Kim Jongin from the _Korea Times_ .” He flashed his reporters’ ID. “I’m supposed to meet with Jinki today.” Sunyong narrowed her eyes at him  “My appointment is for 7 am.” He cleared his throat and glanced at the clock behind her head. 7:30. _Fuck_. “I’m running a bit late.”

 

Sunyong gave him another once over, taking in Jongin’s faded jeans, thick black sweater, plaid button up shirt, and well worn shoulder bag. She smirked and picked up the phone. “I’ll let _Sergeant_ Lee know you’re here.” She pointed to the pale green plastic chairs pushed against the wall opposite to the front desk. “You can wait there.”

 

Jongin gave his most convincing smile, thanked her, and made his way over to the chairs where he plopped himself down. He sighed and took out his phone and scrolled through the half dozen texts he’d gotten from Daehwa since early that morning, nagging him about today’s meeting.

 

_4:30 am Are u asleep? Don’t 4get that you have to meet with Jinki today! You’d better not fuck this up! I know you won’t, but just a reminder._

 

_5:18 am Remember to get the full rundown of the situation and get Jinki to get you one of those secret recording device things._

 

_6:07 am Are you up yet????? You have to be there at 7!!!_

 

Jinki rubbed a hand over his tired face and typed out a response to his boss.

 

_I’m at the office waiting for Jinki. Don’t worry Daehwa, I’ve done this a million times. I know what to do. Have a little faith._

 

He sent the text and slouched down in the hard plastic chair. Even though Jongin had done undercover investigative work multiple times since he’d started out writing for the _Times_ , the sick cold sinking feeling in the back of his throat was new. Jongin hadn’t felt that type of nausea since the time he and Taemin had had their first big job with Mugunghwa. Jongin smirked to himself, remembering the way he had paced the length of the tiny, dingy motel room where he and Tae had holed up for 4 days waiting on the Indonesian meth runner they’d practically begged to make them a “small business loan” as Taemin had called it.

“Just something to get us set up,” he’d said “we’ll get you back.”

Later, both Jongin and Taemin learned that the Korean demand for meth was almost nonexistent and the two of them ended up in hot shit trying to pay off their debt to the runner. But even with all the later complications, Jongin could still remember the cloying sickness that clawed up the back of his throat and that seemed to close in tighter around his neck every minute that he and Tae were waiting in that room.  Frantically walking back and forth across the stained and threadbare pale yellow carpet, Jongin had run every single thing that could go wrong over and over again in his head as if the worrying would stave off the nausea. _The police could track the runner! Someone could spot us leaving the room with the meth! The entire thing could be a set up! The runner could be a police informant!_ Taemin had lay on the bed, playing Solitaire on his phone, stopping occasionally to tell Jongin to stop muttering to himself and to sit the fuck down before he kicked his face in. Jongin grinned even wider. Their relationship had always been a lot like that--Taemin almost irritatingly cool and in control, Jongin constantly thinking and weighing every possible outcome. Over time, Jongin had learned to channel his nervous energy into the type of neurotic, airtight planning that Taemin had always said was the reason they had been able to rise as high as they had. Now, sitting in the police station, Jongin tried his hardest to funnel his rising nerves into something productive.

 

“You can go in now.” Sunyong’s sharp voice cut through Jongin’s memories. Jongin looked up to find Sunyong staring at him, while tapping her fingers impatiently against her desk. “Sergeant Lee is ready for you now.” She tilted her head as if trying to figure out if he was hard of hearing.

 

Jongin thanked her and in a flurry; hastily stuffed his phone in his jeans pocket, grabbed his bag, sprung up from his chair, and headed down the narrow hallway.

 

“His office is the third on the right!” Sunyong called out behind him.

 

Jongin scanned the walls, eyes glancing over framed pictures of past department heads. _One, two_ \-- he stopped in front of a closed door with _Sergeant Lee Jinki_ etched in bold letters on the metal name plate. Shouldering his backpack, Jongin exhaled loudly and knocked.

 

“Yeah, come in. It’s open!”

 

Jongin opened the heavy wooden door to see a surprisingly good looking man a little older than himself standing in front of a large whiteboard mounted to the wall with a marker in his hand. He was fairly tall with perfectly combed brown hair and well built--slender but clearly muscular with broad shoulders and a graceful neck leading to a round, pleasant looking face scrunched in concentration. He stared at whatever he was studying on the whiteboard for another moment, then capped his marker and turned to shake Jongin’s hand.

 

“You’re Kim Jongin? The famous Kim Kai?” He asked studying Jongin’s face carefully. Jongin felt the heat rise to his cheeks, suddenly self conscious under the scrutiny. “You’re much taller than I’d thought you’d be.” Jinki paused and tilted his head to the side, as if trying to examine him from another angle. “And so much _younger_.”

 

“Yeah,” Jongin responded awkwardly running a hand through his hair. “I get the young thing a lot. You’re Sergeant Lee Jinki?”

 

Jinki’s face broke into a huge warm smile that immediately made Jongin exhale in relief.

 

“Sunyong put you up to the whole ‘Sergeant’ thing?” He asked, eyes dancing. Jinki talked quickly, the words seeming to leap and bound out of his mouth.  “No one calls me that. Matter of fact, I hate it.” He walked over to his desk and sat down. “Just call me Jinki. That’s more than fine. ‘Sergeant’ makes me feel old and dusty.”

 

He pointed to the armchair at the other side of the desk.

 

“Please,” he said, “Sit.”

 

“Thanks.” Jongin sat down and took his notebook out of his bag. “Nice space you’ve got,” he said looking around.

 

Jinki’s office was large--at least twice the size of Jongin’s cubicle at the _Times_ \-- and well lit with huge windows overlooking the street framing the wall behind the desk. The entire space was immaculate; books sitting neatly on their shelves, binders stacked on his desk, and two large file cabinets off to the side with full, healthy looking potted plants on top of each one, their long leaves twisting down the sides.

 

Jinki fixed Jongin with the same unnerving stare. Jongin paused and returned the stare, making direct eye contact with the police sergeant.

 

Jinki grinned again.

 

“Thanks,” he said, “A big office is one of the perks of being a sergeant. That and all the stress in the world.” Jinki leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on his desk. “So Jongin. Or Kai? Which one?”

 

“Jongin is fine.”

 

“Then Jongin it is. You’re probably wondering why the hell we asked Daehwa to let you come in and help us out.”

 

Jongin gave a short laugh. “Yeah a bit. This is a bit..irregular. Usually it’s us that ask you all to let us tag along, not the other way around.”

 

Somehow Jinki’s smile grew even larger. “Yeah. See, Mugunghwa is a special case and by special, I mean damn near impossible. We need someone to get in there for us and figure out how to break them apart from the inside out. We know about you. I know about the work you’ve done reporting for the _Times_ \--I read your entire series on the chaebol prostitution ring, fucking _brilliant_ by the way-- you somehow have a knack for getting information that the police would have never been able to uncover. When we were trying to figure out how to structure this project, I suggested that we try to get in contact with you and get you to help. Problem is no one really knows who you are--you don’t have any contact info out there, no twitter, no nothing. I’ve never even seen a picture of you.”

 

Jongin shrugged. “I have to keep a low profile. If I don’t, then it kind of defeats the whole ‘undercover investigative reporter’ thing.” _And I can’t have anyone recognizing me or tracking me down._

 

Jinki laughed. “Makes sense. So I called someone, who called someone else, who set me up with Daehwa who basically told me that there was no way that you’d do this, but yet, here you are. Sitting right here.”

 

Jongin raised his eyebrows. “It seemed like a good story. I’ve never been one to turn down a good story.”

 

Jinki glanced over at his whiteboard. “Oh it will be. Like I said, it’s the most complicated case we’ve had since the Gangnam murders of ‘79. Probably more dangerous though. Don’t worry. We’ll set you up so that you’re properly protected.”

 

Jongin sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’m really not worried about that.”

 

Jinki paused and stared at Jongin again.

 

“Nothing seems to phase you, does it Jongin?”

 

“I’ve been doing this long enough.”

 

“How old are you again? 20? 21?”

 

“23.”

 

Jinki smiled. “Young and accomplished. I like that. I’m 27. I’m the youngest sergeant in the history of the Seoul police force. We may have a lot in common.”

 

Jongin sighed again. Jinki’s small talk was a little too reminiscent of Daehwa and his rambling.

 

“So, exactly what do you need me to do? This can’t be the first time that you all have dealt with Mugunghwa. They’ve been pretty high profile for the last 8 years, at least.”

 

Jinki got up from behind his desk and went over the the whiteboard. “Straight to the point. I like that. But you’re right, this isn’t the first time that we’ve dealt with Mugunghwa. They’ve been on the scene for as long as you said and they really rose in prominence when they joined with the yakuza about 4 years ago--probably right before you joined the _Times._ They’ve been involved in almost everything from drug trafficking, to extortion, debt collection, minor prostitution.” Jinki counted off the various offenses on his fingers. “Now it looks like they’ve gotten into something a lot more nefarious.”

 

Jongin shifted in his seat. “Nefarious?” He asked, clearing his throat. “Like what?”

 

Jinki waved him over. “Come take a look at the whiteboard.”

 

Jongin got up and walked over to where Jinki was standing. On the whiteboard was a complex web of names and locations--some circled and crossed out in a rainbow of colors--with arrows pointing to and from each one. In the very center of the web was TAEMIN + ______ written large and in all caps. Jongin’s heart sped up.

 

“What..what is all this?”

 

“This is a rough outline of all we know about the inner workings of Mugunghwa and the situation at hand,” Jinki responded. He crossed his arms behind his back. “In the past 4 months or so, there’s been what I can only describe as a civil war brewing within Mugunghwa. The murder rate in the inner city has spiked to astronomical levels--shit no one in the force has ever seen. People directly connected to Mugunghwa--their dealers, their runners, even their high ranking officials--all murdered in some of the gnarliest ways. Even some of the smaller conglomerates, both in the country and abroad, have started being wiped out. And if all that wasn’t enough, it looks like Mugunghwa has started importing and distributing this crazy drug from South China. It’s being called Lychee on the streets.” Jinki grimaced. Jongin froze. “Highly addictive, but basically eats your body from inside out. After 5 or 6 highs, it more or less dissolves your insides and bleeds you dry. The bodies we’ve been finding are something else, let me tell you. We’re not sure if Lychee has something to do with the spike in the violence or what, but what we do know is that if we don’t gain access to the heart of Mugunghwa, then we’ll never be able to put a stop to it all.” Jinki tapped the TAEMIN at the center. “There’s this one guy, Lee Taemin. He’s been at the center of Mugunghwa since it started. We’ve never been able to apprehend him, never been able to get a damn charge to stick. Hell, we barely even know where to find him. He keeps a low profile, but from all credible accounts, he’s cold blooded and dangerous as hell.” Jinki tapped the blank space next to Taemin’s name. “And then there’s this blank. We have reason to believe that there was another person at the center of the whole organization, right up there with Taemin. But whoever they were, they’ve either left the organization, or were killed. We haven’t heard word of them in at least 3 or 4 years.”

 

Jongin unfroze long enough to feel the sweat collecting under his arms. The complex web of names, places, and dates, seemed to blur together in front of him. _Dobong-gu:_ _20\. 12. 2015,_ _I_ _m Soojin, found disemboweled, foul play suspected. Seocho-gu: 13.2.16, Goo Hyun-bae, found shot 34 times in the back, head, and abdomen. Possibly in Lee’s inner circle?_

 

He shut his eyes and breathed slowly through his nose.

 

“You alright?” Jinki asked.

 

Jongin opened his eyes and swallowed. He could feel the cold sick feeling building in the back of his throat again. “Yeah. Just a lot to take in.”

 

Jinki laughed and clapped him on the back. “Finally something gets to you. Anyways, this is where you come in. We want you to go undercover, pose as a dealer trying to get in on the Lychee trade, and see if you can figure out what the hell is going on in Mugunghwa. See if you can get to Taemin. See if you can get into his head. Maybe find out who belongs in the blank space. And help us put an end to this.”

 

Jongin stared at Jinki, mouth agape. “You want me to do _what_?”

 

Jinki walked back over to his desk and sat down. “Sounds crazy, I know. But you’re likely the best one for the job. You’re not a cop. Which means you don’t think like a cop. Which means that you’ll be less likely to mess up and act like a cop. Which means you’ll be able to be more convincing than any of us really could be. And you won’t be alone. We’re going to pair you with one of our undercover cops--a guy that used to deal in petty theft and minor drug dealing back in the day but defected to join our side a little while ago. Really experienced, really good. Between the two of you, you’ll be able to crack this, no problem.”

 

Jongin went back over to his chair and sat down. He could still feel his heart racing and his palms had gone clammy.

 

“And you’re sure this is a good idea?” Jongin struggled to keep his voice steady. “Cause this seems like you just want me dead.”

 

Jinki smirked. “I’m positive. Don’t have so little faith in us, Jongin. We will guarantee you the best protection. And when I say that I specifically asked for you, I mean it. I have no doubt that you’ll be the key to us unlocking all of this and finally getting Mugunghwa off the streets. You’re perfect for the job.”

 

 _Maybe a little too perfect_. Jongin thought. _Karma is a bitch and this is only a little too ironic._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while! But I did say that I wouldn't be updating super often. This is chapter two. It cuts off in a sort of a weird place because it was getting super long so I figured I'd stop here and then pick up in the next chapter. Next chapter should be coming pretty soon then I think I'll likely be doing monthly updates. Hope this chapter wasn't too boring--I'm still setting the scene for the rest of the story. Please comment and let me know how it went!


	3. Chapter 3

      The streets were eerily empty. Jongin gazed out the car window, listening to the melodious squeak of the windshield wipers, and to the intermittent damp swish of tires on the wet road as vehicles drove past. Jonghyun zipped through the late night roads, maneuvering around the few other cars on the street, and somehow avoiding every red light. It was raining--the type of soft, late night shower that seemed to only fall in early April--and Jongin watched as the water melted the glow from the street lamps into syrupy pools of honeyed light. Jonghyun started fiddling around with the radio scanning through a repeat broadcast of last night’s baseball game, a top 40 station, and the late night traffic news before settling on an oldies Trot station. Jonghyun switched lanes and started singing along to You! My Beloved loudly and slightly off key.

 

_My Love! My Love! Forever!_

 

_Please tell me you like me._

_I can't get along without you._

 

_You are the rain which falls onto my desolate heart._

_I like you too much._

 

Jongin rolled his eyes and tried to block out the noise by concentrating on the lights flashing out the window.

 

Jonghyun was..strange. From the moment that Jinki cheerfully introduced Jonghyun as “your new best friend and the best in the business,” Jongin had known that there was something a bit off about him. The man was short--at least 5 inches shorter than Jongin--and well built. He had a severe but handsome face, one that could draw you in and intimidate you with a smile. His hair was bleached a shocking shade of blonde and his eyes were wide and that unsettling shade of gray that came from wearing circle lenses. Jongin had seen his type before. Jonghyun was the type of guy that thrived on the streets. Quiet, observant, and slight, people like Jonghyun fade into the background of any room, waiting and watching for the perfect moment to strike out and claim what’s theirs. They’re expert drug dealers and great gang members because they’re like loaded guns--quiet, unassuming, but ready to go off at any moment.

 

Jonghyun smiled at Jongin and shook his hand enthusiastically. “Welcome rookie.”

 

“Jonghyun will get you all set up,” Jinki said. “He’ll take you to the storage room and get you changed. You two are going out tonight.”

 

“Tonight?” Jongin said, surprised. “So soon?”

 

“Yeah, tonight,” Jonghyun said, smirking. “Why wait? No better time than now, right?”

 

Jinki nodded. “Jonghyun’s right. There’s a club in Gwangjin--just a few blocks from Konkuk University. Called _View_. The lychee trade is picking up among students in the area and we got word that there’s going to be a party there. Lower profile, but a couple big distributors are going to be there. You and Jonghyun are going to go there, go undercover and pose as two dealers trying to break into the college market. When you get to the club, go the bar at the back. Ask for Amber. Then just let Jonghyun take over. According to our research, Amber one of Mugunghwa’s higher ups and recently got put in charge of getting lychee into Seoul. You’re gonna need to talk to her. Let Jonghyun do the talking. He’s a pro at this.”

 

Jongin turned to Jonghyun. “How long have you been doing this exactly?”

 

Jonghyun shrugged. “I spent like 8 years on the streets. Did some dealing when I was a teenager. Mostly petty stuff like pot and prescription pills. Got caught when I was around 20 and was offered no jail time if I agreed to help bring down a pill mill. Figured that I might as well just go for it so I went undercover, broke it up and decided I liked working for the cops more than I ever liked running from them. 5 years later and here I am.”

 

“Well damn,” Jongin said. He remembered hearing about the collapse of one the bigger drug rings a couple years back. He hadn’t known much about what had actually gone down. He couldn’t help but be a bit impressed. Maybe he and Jonghyun had more in common than he originally thought. “And you don’t feel bad for turning them in? You must have ended up turning in some of the guys you used to work with.”

 

Jonghyun laughed. “Nope. Not at all. Fucking bastards deserved every bit of it.”

 

Jongin grinned. “You have some sort of redemption kick?” He asked Jonghyun.

 

Jonghyun raised his eyebrows at him. “Maybe,” he responded, “Or maybe I get bored easily. Working on the other side keeps life exciting. And you never have to worry about getting arrested when you’re working for the cops.And the less time you spend worrying about the cops, the less you have to worry about aging prematurely.”

 

Jinki laughed. “I’m pretty sure your days on the streets were full of enough stress that you likely shaved four years off your life, at least,” he said.

 

“Which is why I have to be careful now!” Jonghyun pouted dramatically. “I’m too pretty to die young!”

 

Jinki scowled at him. “You’re not pretty and whoever told you that was lying to your face. Stop embarassing yourself in front of Jongin. We have shit to do.”

Jonghyun turned to Jongin and winked. “Fuck you, Jinki,” he said without any heat behind the words. “I’m pretty, right Jongin?”

 

Jongin blinked. “Um, I mean--”

 

“Jesus Christ Jonghyun, we have things to do! Stop torturing your new partner.” Jinki crossed his arms impatiently. “Take him to the stockroom and get him changed please.”

 

“Yeah, whatever.” Jonghyun grabbed Jongin by the arm and pulled him through the door. “See you later Jinki!”

 

“You ready for this, rookie?” Jonghyun asked as they made their way down the hall.

 

“I wouldn’t have volunteered if I wasn’t.”

 

Jonghyun shot Jongin a sideways glance. “You’re possibly the most boring person I’ve ever met. What’s with you journalists? Do you even have a personality?”

 

Jongin felt his face grow red. “I-I don’t even know how to respond to that?”

 

“That’s because you’re boring. Don’t worry. After this, I’ll find the humor inside of you.”

 

Jongin couldn’t help but laugh. “Good luck with that.”

 

Jonghyun let out a short laugh. “Don’t underestimate me.”

 

\--------------------------------

 

“What?” Jonghyun turned away from the road to grin at Jongin, “You not a trot fan?”

 

“Do I look like a grandpa to you?” Jongin said, mildly disgusted. “Trot music is the shit that the old secretary at the _Times_ listens to all day. She only wears moldy looking sweaters. Do I look like I wear moldy sweaters?”

 

Jonghyun cackled. “You don’t ever have any fun, do you Jongin?” He asked. “You may not look like a grandpa but you definitely act like one.” He turned his attention back to the road. “You got a hobby?”

 

Jongin furrowed his brow. “A what?”

 

“A hobby. You know. Something you do for fun.”

 

“I mean, I write--”

 

Jonghyun shook his head. “Nah, that’s not what I mean. Not your job. What do you do for the sake of doing it?”

 

Jongin crossed his arms  and frowned. “I dance sometimes. Not as much as I used to, but I used to dance a lot when I was younger.”

 

Jonghyun laughed out loud. “You know, looking at you, ‘dancer’ isn’t the first word that would come to mind, but now that you mention it, it kind of makes sense. Well then, Jonginnie, you better start dancing again. You’re gonna need something to keep you sane and remind yourself  of who you really are while you’re in the middle of all of this. Trust me. It’ll be the only thing that will keep you from losing yourself. Or becoming a raging alcoholic every night.”

 

“Is that what happened to you?” Jongin asked, half joking.

 

“Nope. Gave up hard liquor years ago.”

 

“Then what do you do?”

 

“I play guitar,” Jonghyun responded, “It’s a hobby I picked up when I was working the streets. Started off playing bass in a rock band in my down time. Then our guitarist got locked up and, of course, we couldn’t find any other guitarists, just bass players. So I picked up the guitar to fill in the space and we got some other guy to take my place. Turns out I like guitar more than bass. Been playing ever since.”

 

“You don’t really strike me as a guitar player.”

 

Jonghyun smiled at him. “Well what do you know, rookie? Looks like we’re both full of surprises.”

 

Both of the men fell silent. The radio went to commercial break and a cheery Yakuroto jingle played in the background. Jonghyun whistled along. Jongin refocused his attention out the window.

 

“You asked me about redemption earlier,” Jonghyun said after a beat.

 

Again, Jongin turned away from the window and looked at Jonghyun. His face was stern and he was gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles bulged.

 

“I did.” Jongin’s voice came out softer than he intended.

 

Jonghyun was quiet. He flicked on the indicator and switched lanes. Just when Jongin thought he was going to drop the entire subject, Jonghyun turned off the radio.

“Tell me, Jongin,” he said, his voice low, eyes still on the road. “Have you ever broken someone’s heart?”

 

Jongin parted his lips. He thought of Taemin’s face when he’d left all those years ago. He thought of the Mugunghwa members he’d left behind.

 

“I’m not sure,” he answered after a moment. “I’m not sure anyone ever loved me enough for me to have that kind of power over them.”

 

Jonghyun let out a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a harsh bark. “You? Aren’t all you writers supposed to be sensitive and romantic or whatever?” He exhaled sharply. “ To be honest, I don’t really know anything about you. Jinki didn’t really tell me anything before he assigned me to this project. To be honest, I doubt he knows that much about you. You’re the biggest mystery we’ve ever seen and that’s saying something in the internet age. But we’re probably from completely different worlds, you and me. You’re a fancy journalist and you’re really good at what you do. You’ve probably always been good at it. Me? I’ve never really been good at anything. I grew up with my mom and sister. I grew up dirt poor. I dropped out of middle school because my mom couldn’t afford to keep sending me. My sister was the smart one. She got the grades. I could barely pass a test. It made more sense to put all our resources into supporting her.

I started working when I was 13. I sold snacks on the street but you don’t make much money doing that and when I say we were poor I mean it. I’d seen some of the older kids make ridiculous amounts of money selling counterfeit cds on the street and I went up to them one day asking if I could get in on it. They told me that they knew a better way to make money. That’s how I got caught up dealing drugs. Started young. Made more money than I’d ever seen in my whole _life_ in the first two months. But then the gang wanted me to stay, leave my mom and sister. Started threatening me, saying that they knew where I lived, threatened to kidnap my sister, burn down my house--all of that. I had no choice.” He stopped and took a deep breath.

 

“So I left home. I was 14. I never said goodbye to my mom, never said goodbye to Song Dam. Soon after I left, I heard that they were looking for me. Put up missing posters and everything. But the gang wouldn’t let me leave. A few years into the whole thing, I bumped into my mom on the street late at night. Me and two other guys were robbing this old lady. I had a knife up to her throat. My mom wandered down the alley and saw me. She recognized me instantly and screamed my name then ran. I tried running after her but when I caught up with her she slapped me and ran. I didn’t go after her. I haven’t seen her since. But in a weird way, I feel like I’ve been doing nothing but chasing after her. When I left home, I always thought it would only be for a while. Just until I got my bearings. I’d get my money, then I’d go back home. But when Umma saw me that night, it all changed. I disappointed her. I hurt her. It wasn’t her I was robbing, I wasn’t holding the knife up to her throat but I might as well have been. It was like I killed her.”

 

The silence fell over the car again. Jongin sat still in his seat, staring at his hands. He knew this story. He’d heard a thousand just like them. Gangs picking off the young and vulnerable, tearing apart families, turning kids into criminals. It had happened to Jongin when he was young. He’d done the same thing to kids when he was in Mugunghwa.

 

“So I do this for more than just to get out of jail time,” Jonghyun said, his voice hard. “I do it so that maybe, Umma will see me and maybe she’ll forgive me.”

 

Jongin nodded. “Believe it or not, I understand.”

 

The corners of Jonghyun’s mouth darted up in a smile. “Guess all your reporting experience is actually worth something. You may have a soul just yet. Don’t put any of this in your article by the way. I’m not your spectacle.”

 

Jongin forced out a smile. “Understood.”

 

There was a sudden screech of tires as Jonghyun abruptly swung the car around, narrowly avoiding a honking taxi cab, and pulled up into a side alley.

 

“WHAT the FUCK is wrong with you?!” Jongin shouted gripping the center console. “You almost killed us!”

 

“We’re here.” Jonghyun calmly killed the engine and hopped out.

 

Jongin stared at him with his mouth open, heart still pounding erratically in his chest. It was late at night and he was exhausted. Everything about the case--from Jinki and the web to the tangled mess that was Jonghyun, to the fact that he was about to dive back into a world he barely knew anymore--was sucking him dry. And it was only day one.

 

A sharp rap on the window startled Jongin and he glanced over to see Jonghyun with his face pressed up against the glass.

 

“Come on!” He mouthed.

 

Sighing to himself and zipping up his black hoodie, Jongin got out of the beat up Black Hyundai and followed the shorter man into the rain.

 

\---------------

 

The club was dank and crowded; lights dim.  The whole space seemed to be alive--sweaty bodies frantically writhing around each other to the thudding heartbeat of the bass of the music.  

Jongin could remember a thousand nights spent in clubs like these when he was on the streets, Taemin would sweet talk the bouncer into letting the two clearly underage boys into clubs and basement drug parties where they would talk free drinks out of bartenders and coax marijuana out of older women. They would compete with one another to see who could dance with the most girls but no matter who won (usually Jongin, girls always had a thing for him), they would always loop back to one another before the night was over and _dance_ , pressing their bodies against each other with the fervor of two beings trying to merge. Jongin shuddered as he remembered the feverish heat of Taemin’s moving body pressing up against his own. 

 

Jongin and Jonghyun maneuvered their way through the crowd, narrowly dodging a half naked couple frantically grinding against each other in the center of the room.

 

“Not your thing?” Jonghyun whispered in his ear, as they slid past.

 

Jongin rolled his eyes at him. _You have no idea._

 

Jonghyun flashed him a taunting grin, the white of his teeth glowing ominously under the club’s blacklights. He grabbed Jongin’s hand and pulled him towards the bar at the back of the room. Nudging out a space for him and Jongin at the long counter, Jonghyun leaned over the counter with a smooth grace and gestured over to the skinny bartender organizing shot glasses. He looked young, at least 4 years too young to even be in the place, let alone be serving alcohol.

 

“Ya!” Jonghyun called out, almost lazily, “You gonna serve us or what?”

 

The boy out down the shot glass in his hand and went over to Jonghyun. Jongin decided that he looked even younger from up close.

 

“You want something?” he asked, voice barely audible over the loud music. Jongin could just make out his Japanese accent.

 

Jonghyun leaned over the bar, putting his face close to the bartender’s. “Yeah,” he shouted despite the close proximity, “I’m gonna need two shots of soju--one for me and one for my friend,” he pointed at Jongin, “And we’re gonna need to see Amber.”

 

The boy froze. “Amber? I don’t know anyone named--” Jonghyun grabbed the boy by his shirt collar.

 

“Yeah you do,”  He said, almost sweetly. “You know exactly who I’m talking about and you’re gonna bring us to her.” He let go of his collar. “And you’re gonna bring us our soju.”

 

The boy flinched and slowly nodded, drawing away. He took his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text. Less than a minute later, a big, burly guy with a shaved, tattooed head appeared out of the backroom. The bartender pointed at Jonghyun and the big guy nodded and went over to them both.

 

“You two are looking for Amber?”

 

Jonghyun gave him his most convincing smile. “Yep.”

 

The bartender came back and hurriedly placed two bottles of soju in front of them. Jongin quickly unscrewed one and took a swig. _May as well play the part,_ he thought.

 

The bald guy studied them both closely. “You didn’t say who you were.”

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Jonghyun said. “We just need to see Amber. We know she has what we want and we’re pretty sure that we can provide a service that she’ll appreciate. But if you never bring us to her, well...she’ll never know. And that would be _quite_ the missed opportunity, don’t you think?” Jonghyun’s voice went icy cold and Jongin remembered his initial read of Jonghyun.

Jongin had to hand it to Jonghyun. He definitely knew what he was doing.

 

“He doesn’t talk?” The bald guy pointed at Jongin.

 

“He’s shy,” Jonghyun retorted, arms crossed. “We’re not really here to talk to you anyways.”

 

The bald man paused and studied Jonghyun carefully before turning to Jongin. They made direct eye contact and Jongin could feel the man carefully contemplating his face. Then, slowly, the man nodded.

 

“Alright then,” he said. “Amber’s in the back.”

 

Jonghyun smiled. “Excellent.”

 

The two men followed the bouncer around the side of the bar and down a narrow hallway that reeked of sweat and marijuana.The bouncer led them all the way to the end of the hall where he stopped and knocked on a closed door plastered with posters of scantily clad women advertising Hite beer.

 

“Yeah?” a voice called out from inside.

 

“Amber, it’s me,” the bouncer said. “I got two guys out here who apparently want to talk to business.”

 

There was some shuffling on the other side of the door and it opened halfway, spilling light into the dark hallway.

 

“Seriously, Ryu? I’ve told you that I’m not taking anyone on right now, why the fuck would you bring them here?”

 

A short woman was glaring at them in the doorframe, blocking the rest of the room from view. At least, Jongin thought she was a woman. Her hair was dark and cropped as short as his own and she was wearing jeans and a long sleeved black t-shirt rolled up to the elbows. Twisting down her right arm was an intricate tattoo of twisting branches and mugunghwa flowers.

 

Ryu shifted nervously and rubbed a hand over his bald head. “Sorry, Amber. They kept pestering Takada at the bar and the little one won’t shut up so I figured that I may as well just bring them over.”

 

“ _Little one?_ ” Jonghyun hissed under his breath, “I am not little, thank you very much!”

 

Amber glanced at the two of them then went back to glaring at Ryu. “What type of fucking useless bouncer are you that you can’t take care of two people?” She sighed. “Alright. I’ll handle this.”

 

Ryu smiled sheepishly, bowed and scurried away.

 

Amber opened the door wider. “Well come on in then.”

 

Jongin and Jonghyun followed her into the room. It was small and cramped with peeling red and white wallpaper. The one window was half open, letting in the smell of the rain. An old battered sofa pushed up against a wall and a low coffee table covered with packs of cigarettes, joint wrappers, empty beer cans, napkins and bags filled with what looked like small white balls.

 

“Shut the fucking door, Amber, you’re letting all the noise in, Jesus.”

 

Jongin felt every hair on his head stand up on edge. He spun around and looked in the corner of the room where a man was sitting on the floor bent over, typing on his laptop.

 

_No._

 

Amber shut the door behind her and threw herself down on the sofa.

 

“Stop being so pissy, Tae goddamn.” She grabbed one of the cigarette packs off the table, and placed a cigarette between her lips. “You’re the one who decided to come to the club tonight so I don’t know what you’re complaining about noise for.”

 

The man in the corner sighed and flipped her the bird without looking up from what he was working on.

 

Amber turned her attention back to Jongin and Jonghyun. “Either of you got a lighter?”

 

Jonghyun reached into the pocket of his jeans and tossed a bright red lighter at her. Amber caught it and lit her cigarette. She took a long drag. “Alright,” she said as she exhaled a thick plume of smoke. “Who are you two?”

 

Jongin opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Jonghyun rolled his eyes at him.

 

“I’m Jonghyun,” he said. “This is Jongin. We think we may be able help you out.”

 

Amber started laughing. “Help us? You high or something? How the hell are you two supposed to be able to help us? You hear this, Tae?”

 

The sounds of typing in the corner had stopped. Jongin could feel the cold waves of nausea begin to wash over him again. He turned to see the face that had dipped in and out of his dreams for the past 4 years.  

 

Jongin couldn’t help but notice the ways that Taemin’s face had matured in the past few years-- the round cheeks that he remembered have given way to high, sweeping cheekbones; hair dyed an icy blond and cut shorter so that his bangs fell gently against his forehead. But still, so much about him was the same. Same wide lips. His eyes were the same; observant and coy. Taemin caught him staring and he raised his eyebrows at him knowingly.

 

Jongin was rooted where he stood. His brain was screaming at him to get out of the room and get as far away as possible from everyone in it. But his limbs couldn’t respond and every one of his cells pleaded with him to move closer to Taemin, to step into his space and breathe him in again. It took all of his will to not give into either call and instead, he stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists as if trying to grab hold of the air to steady himself.

 

Taemin shut the laptop and stood up. He walked over to the sofa and sat down next to Amber, never taking his eyes off of Jongin. He looked...good, Jongin decided. He was wearing dark jeans, and a black button down shirt--both making him look older and taller. He was thinner than Jongin remembered but then again, it had been years since he had seen Taemin anywhere outside of his own fragmented memories.

 

Taemin flicked his gaze over to Jonghyun, sizing him up with quicksilver eyes, before turning back to Jongin. Jongin wasn’t sure if he was just out of practice but Taemin’s expression was unreadable.

 

“So you think you can do something for us?” he said finally. His voice was slow, measured, the same tone that he used when talking to subordinates. He crossed his legs and sat back on the sofa. “Ok. Let’s hear it.”

 

Amber looked at him incredulously. “Seriously?”

 

Taemin shrugged and half smiled at Jongin. “You never know, Amber. They may know something we don’t.”

 

Jonghyun started relaying their complex pitch for entering the lychee trade that they had rehearsed with Jinki earlier in the day with a practiced, convincing ease. Amber listened, looking increasingly more surprised that Taemin was even allowing this to go on. Taemin nodded along, keeping his eyes fixed on Jongin. Jongin didn’t say a word, the room fading to gray around him as he stood transfixed by the man he had been so certain he had walked away from.

 

“So what you’re telling me is that you have an in with the Konkuk kids and that you know how to get into the suburban market?” Amber stubbed out her cigarette in an empty beer can and looked at Jonghyun skeptically. “You do know that we already have a ring set up around here? We have guys--good, capable guys that we _trust_. I’ve never even heard of either of you. Why the hell should we let you work with us?”

 

“Because we know how to get around the police,” Jongin finally said, snapping out of his daze.  Jonghyun grinned at him. “We have a few officers on our side--they’ve been into lychee for a while and they want to make a profit. They’re basically promising us full amnesty and free reign over this territory.” He broke Taemin’s stare and looked at Amber. “You might not know us but we know more than you think. We’re established and experienced. I’m pretty well connected.”

 

Amber scoffed. “Yeah, right. No cop would do that. They’ve been hot on our tails since the murder rate ticked up. Get the fuck out you two. I can’t even believe that Ryu let you back here.”

 

“No. Stay.” Taemin leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. His hair fell forward, creating a silver curtain in front of his eyes. “They may have a point, Amber. I know him.” He jutted his chin towards Jongin.

 

Jongin caught the minute shudder of surprise that racked Jonghyun’s body. Amber made a face at Taemin.

 

“You _do?_ ” She said.

 

“Yep.” Taemin got up and stood directly in front of Jongin. Jongin fought the urge to take a step back and stood his ground, making direct eye contact with Taemin. He tried to snap back into the unshakable person he’d been with Mugunghwa. He smiled. After all this time, he was still the taller one.

 

Taemin looked at him, his eyes roving over Jongin’s face; moving over his eyes, lips and cheeks. He frowned slightly then leaned forward, so close that Jongin could taste his breaths.

 

“So,” Taemin whispered, “You’re back?”

 

Jongin felt his heart speed up in his chest and he swallowed in an attempt to temper its storm. “If you’ll let me back.” Jongin kept his voice steady, slipping into an icy tone he didn’t even know he still possessed.

 

Taemin nodded slowly and stepped away. “We’ll give you a chance,” he said to the room, “Why the hell not. You do some stuff for us and if you’re good on your promise, our trade will expand. We could use the support now anyways.” He went back over to the corner where he sat down and opened his laptop. “And if you fuck up,” he started typing again, "It’s no big deal. We’ll handle you. Sound good?”

 

Amber started laughing. Jonghyun smiled. Jongin felt his head go light.

 

“Deal,” he said.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. This chapter took so so so long to write. I'm still working out all the characters and trying to set the scene so bear with me. Hopefully this will be the last boring chapter and then things can actually get rolling. Again, this kind of cuts off in a weird spot because the chapter was getting crazy long.
> 
> Please comment and let me know how you think it's going! It's really encouraging to know that someone is actually out there reading this lol.
> 
> Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

_ It had been a cold night, the air so frigid, that it burned Jongin’s lungs with every breath he took. He was sitting on a bench with his hands balled into tight fists and stuffed as deep as they could go into his worn out winter coat, the stuffing leaking out of a tear near the hem. His school bag was draped over his legs like a type of makeshift blanket. The sun had just set and he stared off in the distance, watching the sun’s bloodstain glow fade into the darkness. He decided that the sky looked less black and more like the deep blue of the velvet dress that Umma had hanging in her closet. The freezing air cut into Jongin’s exposed face like shards of glass, and he closed his eyes, remembering running his fingers over the thick softness of the velvet, leaving smooth indentations in their wake, and wished that he could wrap himself in it now. He shivered, one strong tremor after another wracking his small frame.  _

 

_ All of the other kids had long gone home for the day and from the bench, Jongin had watched the steady stream of students walk home in groups, their laughter bubbling around him, and then later--he watched the teachers trickle out of the building, looking exhausted after another long day. No one noticed noticed him. No one ever did. During the days, he’d sit at the front of the class, concentrating on the day’s assignment, diligently taking notes and raising his hand every so often to ask questions or to respond to the teacher. But he was never called on. During exam season, Jongin would always score in the top 5 of all the other fifth graders, but no one ever congratulated him. He was never asked to stand in front of the class with the other top scorers to be applauded by his classmates; it was never his name written on the bulletin board in the principal’s office. At lunch time, he sat alone in the cafeteria while all the other students ate, laughed and gossiped around him. Jongin never had lunches of his own--he had no extra money and it had been a long time since Umma had packed him anything. So instead, he read. After school everyday, he would head to the school library and pick out a book--everyday it was a different subject: sometimes fiction, sometimes science, sometimes history. More often than not it was history. Jongin loved history. He loved learning about past triumphs and failures and other countries. He would imagine that he could time travel and melt into a different era, become a different person, someone who didn’t have Jongin problems but had 18th century emperor problems or WWII pilot problems.  _

 

_ Home wasn’t any better. Umma spent her days lying in bed, her room dark and dank with the smell of sweat and old sheets, and her nights spent drinking, screaming, and fighting with Yoon Chang who would scream and fight back. Jongin never saw him drinking--Yoon Chang always just seemed drunk. Usually after school, Jongin would walk home after going the library and let himself into their tiny, cluttered house and tip toe around making dinner for himself, Umma and Yoon Chang. He would eat, then bring food to Umma in her room which he would leave on the bedside table. He was always so careful not to wake her. Yoon Chang would usually come home right after Jongin finished washing the dishes.  _

 

_ Yoon Chang was big; mammothly tall and wide with a loud, sonorous voice.  From the first day that Umma had brought Yoon Chang home, Jongin had thought that Yoon Chang was the biggest man he had ever seen--to tiny Jongin, Yoon Chang seemed to even make cars look small.   _

 

_ Yoon Chang would bang around the kitchen for a bit, then sit down at the table, which looked comically small in comparison to his massive frame, and eat whatever Jongin had prepared. If he was lucky, Jongin would creep away to his room where he would do his homework and read while Umma got out of bed and she and Yoon Chang would start screaming at one another. Sometimes Yoon Chang would hit her. Whenever that happened, Jongin would plug his ears and read aloud to himself to drown out her cries. _

 

_ But most times, Jongin wasn’t lucky. Yoon Chang would find some fault with dinner (it’s too cold! The rice is too dry! The kimchi is old! No meat?! What type of man do you think I am?) and Yoon Chang would hit him too--never too hard, but just hard enough to bring big, burning  tears to Jongin’s eyes. Umma would always slump out of bed by then and she would see Yoon Chang hit him. And she would yell. And the two of them would start yelling at one another. And Jongin would run away to his room. _

 

_ And last night, Jongin hadn’t been lucky. There hadn’t been much food left in the fridge so he had tried to make do with only a bit of rice, a quarter of a jar of kimchi, and half a tin of Spam. He had tried to make kimchi fried rice but there hadn’t been enough food and he had accidentally burned the rice. And Yoon Chang had been mad. Raging mad. He slapped Jongin harder than he had in the two years that he’d been living with him and Jongin fell to the floor with a scream, clutching at his burning cheek. It felt like someone had brought a searing hot pan to his face.  _

 

_ “What the fuck is this?” Yoon Chang had snarled at him, his impossibly large body hovering over Jongin’s much smaller ten year old frame. “You think I can eat this shit? You think this is good enough? Maybe it’s good enough for your stupid whore mother and your stupid ass, but I can’t eat this! I work everyday, I make money. I  _ **_provide_ ** _ for you. And this is how you treat me? Fucking useless piece of shit.” _

 

_ Jongin tried to shrink himself into a ball on the floor, hoping that Yoon Chang would take interest in something else and stop yelling and go away.  _

 

_ “Please,” he thought. “Please make it stop, make him ignore me like everyone else. Please.” _

 

_ There was a shuffling  and through the gap between Yoon Chang’s legs, Jongin saw that Umma had come out of the bedroom. Yoon Chang turned away from him and Jongin breathed out a sigh of relief that quickly turned into a silent scream when Yoon Chang rounded on his mother and slapped her just as he had slapped him. But this time, Yoon Chang didn’t stop. He fell on to Jongin’s mother’s collapsed form and started laying into her, fists and all. She screamed, her yells turning into shrieks and then into sobs. Helpless, Jongin was rooted to the floor watching with disbelief as Yoon Chang beat his mother into silence and then into something beyond silence--an eerie finality. _

 

_ When he was done Yoon Chang got up and wiped his bloody hands on his shirt. He looked down at the bleeding mass that had been Jongin’s mother then glanced at Jongin who was sitting stone still, mouth open.   _

 

_ “I’m leaving,” Yoon Chang said, voice hard and firm. And just as easily as he had come, he turned and left the house. _

 

_ Jongin continued to stare at the spot where his mother lay, his eyes open wide and his heart thundering in his chest. Slowly, slowly, he crawled over to where she was bleeding on the floor and held her head in his lap, her face bloody and pulpy, her body limp and soft.  He sat there--soundless, unmoving--until he felt his mother’s body go completely cold. Then, Jongin gently placed her body on the floor and got up. He went into her bedroom and pulled the sheet off the bed then returned to the kitchen and draped it over her battered body. He went back into his mother’s room, silently stripped off his bloodied clothes, then lay on the bare mattress, curled on his side, staring at the patch of light that the window cast on the wall. He didn’t sleep that night--he just lay there and watched the room go from midnight black to soft pink to early morning gray. At 7 am Jongin got out of bed, washed up and got dressed. He grabbed his backpack, put on his shoes and coat and tip toed past his mother’s body still lying in the middle of the kitchen floor. Then he went out the door and headed to school just like any other morning. _

 

_ And now Jongin was alone, sitting on a bench well past the end of the school day. He could tell it was getting late--the last of the sun had faded from the sky and the street had fallen silent. Everyone was home, probably warm and sitting around a table, eating dinner with their mothers and fathers, talking about their days. The middle school entrance exams had come out today and this time, Jongin had gotten the highest score in the history of the school. No one had said a single word of congratulations to him. Jongin imagined his classmates eating hot budae jigae with their parents while their mothers praised them on excelling and he felt a pang deep in his stomach. He stuffed his hands deeper into his pockets and bowed his head against the wind. Slowly, slowly, tears ran down his face, leaving hot scalding hot trails of misery on his icy cheeks. Jongin felt the tell tale choking in the back of his throat and he took four deep breaths in quick succession before he broke down and started crying, letting out quiet whimpers. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d cried--not when Appa died, not when Yoon Chang first started come around, not when Umma stopped being Umma. It’s was a new type of hurt, a fresh sadness. One that Jongin that never learned about, one that he had never read about. He was so fully alone. And he wasn’t quite sure what to do.  _

 

_ “Why are you crying?” Startled, Jongin looked up to see another boy standing over him. He looked to be around his age--maybe a tiny bit older. He was wearing a thick gray winter coat--one of the puffy ones with the thick hoods that Jongin had always wished for. The hood was pulled over the boy’s head and a few wisps of black hair peeked out from the edge. The boy was smiling--wide so that his eyes crinkled in the corners. _

 

_ “So?” the boy said, still grinning.  _

 

_ “I-I,” Jongin started, his voice rusty with his tears. He was caught off guard. This was the first time that anyone had really paid any sort of attention to him--let alone asked him about his feelings. “I don’t really know,” he finally finished, his voice soft. “It’s hard to explain.” _

 

_ The boy nodded. “Ok,” he said. He looked around the school yard. “I’m Taemin by the way,” he said, “Nice bruise.” Taemin pointed at Jongin’s cheek and Jongin felt his face grow warm with embarrassment.   _

 

_ “Jongin,” he said, sniffling. “I’m Jongin. _

 

_ “You have anywhere to go?” _

 

_ Jongin shook his head, tears still running down his face. _

 

_ Taemin grinned again. “Come with me, then. You can stay with me. I know a place.” _

 

_ Jongin hesitated for a moment then got up from the bench. It was getting colder and it wasn’t like he had any other options. And even though he had just met Taemin, he felt like he could trust him. Taemin had noticed him. And right now, that was more than enough. _

 

_ \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- _

 

Jongin winced as he flicked on the lights in his apartment. He kicked the door shut behind him and shuffled over to the kitchen sink where turned on the water and washed his hands. He cupped a little in his hands and brought it to his lips, gulping down the cold, tinny taste. Shutting off the faucet, Jongin slumped down on the floor, bracing his back against the hard wooden cupboards. It was late; the green numbers on the microwave glowed 5:15 am. Jongin exhaled loudly and ran a weary hand through his rain damp hair. Between the little sleep he had gotten the night before and the events of the day, Jongin was completely exhausted. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the cupboard, feeling the fatigue throb deep in his bones.

 

Jonghyun had driven him home in complete silence, never taking his eyes off of the road. At a loss for words, Jongin curled up in the passenger seat and imagined himself sinking into the car floor. He hadn’t known what to say to Jonghyun--there was no way to just say that he knew Taemin, no simple way to reveal that he was connected to the head of Mugunghwa. 

 

After the conversation with Taemin, Amber begrudgingly handed Jonghyun one of the ziploc bags of the white balls. Up close, Jongin saw that they were translucent and crystalline, made milky in the light of the room.

 

“One kilogram of lychee,” Amber had said, arms crossed. “That’s all I’m giving you to start off with. You sell that, and we’ll see if we can really do business. You hear that Tae?”

 

Taemin, who was packing up his laptop, smirked at her then slipped out of the room.

 

Amber turned back to the two men. “ _ One kilo _ . You get that?”

 

Jonghyun smiled his slow, easy smile. “No problem,” he said. “It’ll be gone in 48 hours.”

 

“It better be.” Amber lit another cigarette. “I can’t fucking  _ believe  _ this.”

  
  
  
  


Jongin closed his eyes against the glare of the kitchen lights and breathed in deeply, relishing in the stretch of his lungs. He knew that Jonghyun was highly suspicious of him now and Jongin doubted that he would even be allowed to stay on the case after this. He was mostly convinced that Jinki would call him down to the station tomorrow morning and interrogate him, then probably lock him up. For what felt like the millionth time that day, Jongin felt overwhelmed. It had been a long time since he’d felt this out of control. He’d always tried hard to be in control of his life--when he’s working on a story for the  _ Times,  _ when he was in command with Mugunghwa, when he was living under the care of the Kkangpae, even when he was living with Umma and Yoon Chang. But for some reason, Taemin had always been the only one able to throw him off kilter and make his resolve crumble.

 

_ Fuck. _

 

He bit his lip and squeezed his eyelids tight. His throat went raw and he gasped before breaking down in sobs. He bent over and curled himself into his knees, letting his tears soak into his jeans. It had been a long time since he’d last cried--not since the night he’d left Mugunghwa. Then he’d cried the entire time that he wandered along the Han River, muffling his sobs in the collar of his bloodstained jacket. And here he was, 5 years later, curled up alone on his cold kitchen floor crying so hard that he was half certain his insides were going to leech out.

 

_ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _

 

_ \-----------------------------------------– _ \--------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Damn, you got this much?” Jinki held up the bag of lychee and examined it closely, squinting. “And you promised that you’d sell it all in 48 hours? That’s ballsy, Jjong.”

 

Jonghyun shrugged nonchalantly and propped his feet up on the edge of Jinki’s desk. 

 

“You gotta talk big or they never take you seriously.”

 

Jinki swatted at his feet, then sat back in his own chair. “And you said Taemin was there?” Jinki continued, “I would have never expected him to show his face at a party like that one. He’s usually a lot more underground than that.” Jinki sounded contemplative. “Interesting. What’d you think of him, Jongin?”

 

Jongin fought the urge to jump at Jinki’s words. 

 

“Me?” He asked.  _ Jonghyun must have told him, shit. _ Jongin glanced at Jonghyun who stared pointedly at Jinki’s plants. He hadn’t made eye contact with Jongin since they’d entered Jinki’s office.

 

Jinki looked at him impatiently. 

 

“Well yes, you. You’re the journalist. You’re supposed to be good at getting reads on people. What’d you think of him? What type of person is he?”

 

Jongin felt himself calm down. He took a deep breath, and tried to think like the journalist he was supposed to be.

 

“Well,” he started. He snuck another glance at Jonghyun who was still staring at the plants. “Well, Taemin is self assured. He’s in control of everything--himself, his conglomerate, his subordinates--everything. You can just tell from the way he carries himself. Nothing seems to phase him, he looks…” Jongin paused, remembering the way Taemin had looked into his eyes last night. “He looks bored. And it’s scary. No one should look that disinterested with life. Especially not someone who’s running South Korea’s biggest gang and who is supposedly in the middle of the worst gang war Seoul’s ever seen.” Jongin took a breath. “It’s kind of unsettling. Weird, even.”

 

Jinki nodded. “Interesting.” He got up from behind his desk and went over to his whiteboard, studying it carefully. “I want you two to be careful around him. He’s unpredictable. And things could get tricky now that he knows your faces.”

 

At that, Jonghyun shot Jongin a look. 

 

“I want you both to sell the lychee,” Jinki continued, oblivious of what was happening between the two other men. “Like actually. Actually build some street cred. If we just confiscate it and give you money, it could get complicated and there’s too much room for error. You still have your contacts, right Jonghyun?”

 

“Yup,” he responded. “I still know how to deal, Sarg. It’s like riding a bike, you know.”

 

“Whatever.” Jinki waved him off. “You think you can handle this, Jongin?”

 

“He can,” Jonghyun said before Jongin had a chance to respond. “I have lots of faith in him. He seems to be full of potential.”

 

Jinki grinned. “I know,” he said. “You don’t get to be one of the best reporters in South Korea if you don’t have potential.” Jinki walked over to the office door and opened it. “Now get out,” he said. “I have another meeting at 12 and you two have to go sell lychee.”

 

Jongin got up from his chair and followed Jonghyun out the door and into the hallway.

 

“See you later, Jinki!” Jonghyun called over his shoulder, waving dramatically at Jinki. “I’ll miss you, darling!”

 

“Shut the fuck up, Jonghyun, dear god,” Jinki mumbled and shut the door.

 

“Let’s head to the car,” Jonghyun said, all of laughter dropped from his voice.

Jongin followed him out through the back exit and to the parking lot. Jonghyun took the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the doors of the Hyundai.

 

“I’m not going to tell Jinki,” Jonghyun said, getting in. “Not yet anyways.”

 

Jongin was startled. “You’re not?” he said, his voice ticking upwards. “I thought--” he paused and fiddled with his seatbelt, “I thought you already had.”

 

Jonghyun shook his head as he started up the engine. “No. I’m not a snitch.” He backed out of the parking space and turned on the road, hitting the midday traffic. “Mostly, I wouldn’t even know  _ what _ to tell Jinki. All I know is that you and Taemin go way back or some shit. That’s not enough.” He glanced at Jongin through the rearview mirror. “And anyways, you two knowing each other probably will make this whole thing a lot easier. Sort of.”

 

“Sort of?” Jongin responded.

 

They stopped at a red light.

 

“What do you mean ‘sort of?’” Jonghyun opened his eyes wide in an exaggerated mock innocence. “Your relationship with Taemin is only useful if you  _ tell me exactly _ what’s going on here.”

 

Jongin’s heart started racing.

 

“I need to know everything,” Jonghyun continued, turning back to the road as the light turned green. “Or this isn’t going to work. None of this will. I’ll do or say something wrong and the whole job could go to shit. And you know where that’ll leave us?”

 

Jongin nodded.

 

“Dead.”

 

“Yes, exactly.” Jonghyun took a left and turned into the parking lot of a Starbucks. He unbuckled his seatbelt and moved to get out of the car. “Come on.”

 

“We’re going to sell the lychee here?” Jongin asked incredulously.

 

“No. We’re here to talk. We’re here so you can tell me about you.”

 

Jongin didn’t move. He started running through any possible escape plans. He could get out of the car and run, but where would he go? Jonghyun would be able to find him. The whole damn police force would probably have a warrant out for his arrest in less than an hour. He could knock out Jonghyun, leave him in the street, and steal the car and drive to the next town. But he was sure that Jinki had a tracker in the car.  _ Fuck. _

 

Instead, Jongin took a deep breath and slouched down in his seat. “Why do you want to know?” 

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Jongin, seriously?” Jonghyun threw his hands in the air impatiently. “You have to! If you don’t, I’ll call Jinki and he’ll have your ass arrested so fast that you wouldn’t have even seen it coming!”

 

“I get it,” Jongin said, his voice low. He got out of the car. “I’ll tell you. It was going to get out anyways.”

 

Jonghyun smirked. “Yeah,” he said, “Nothing really gets past me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated!


	5. Chapter 5.1

That first night, Taemin took him down to the warehouse district on the outskirts of town. It was further out than Jongin had ever been and his eyes darted back and forth nervously, a cold chill moving up his spine. Umma and Yoon Chang used to get into angry shouting matches whenever Yoon Chang would stumble home deep into the night, reeking of smoke and soju, Umma accusing him of going off to “see those fucking whores at the warehouses”. Jongin was pretty sure that this was where she had been talking about. He was scared and tired but he kept following Taemin who was casually walking ahead of him, his hands in his coat pockets.

 

Taemin hadn’t stopped talking since they left the schoolyard, cheerfully talking about music, manga, and soccer. Overwhelmed by everything around him, Jongin hadn’t known how to respond, just nodding along and letting the other boy fill up the silence.

 

“This is home!” Taemin announced, leading him around the back of an old, crumbling soju processing factory. He walked up to a pair of large metal doors, probably once used for deliveries, turned red with rust and grabbed the left handle, his hands seeming comically small, and pushed. The door creaked open with a heavy metallic moan. Taemin walked into the shadowy entrance, but Jongin froze in the doorframe, panic and fear moving through his small body.

 

“What are you waiting for?” Taemin asked.

 

“I-I,” Jongin started, glancing at the stained concrete floor. “I’m not sure about this.” What if Yoon Chang was here? What if someone here recognized him and told Yoon Chang where to find him? Jongin fought back the urge to run away.

 

Taemin smiled at him. “Come on,” he said, grabbing Jongin’s clammy hand in his own, warm dry hand. “It’s fine. This is where I live! This is where all the guys are. I’ll take you to the Hyungs.”

 

Still nervous, Jongin gave Taemin’s hand a small squeeze and swallowed. He nodded. “Ok,” he said, his throat dry. He wasn’t sure what it was, but something about Taemin calmed him down. He didn’t know why, but he trusted him. In the two hours that he’d known him, Taemin had shown him more kindness than anyone else in his life. And because of that Jongin didn’t know what else to do but to follow him.

 

\--------------

“Hyungs!” Taemin announced arms spread wide and a gleaming grin on his face as he walked through the wooden office doors, dragging Jongin along. “This is Jongin!”

 

The hyungs were Jaejoong--icy looking but terrifyingly handsome former Seoul mob boss with rumored ties to a Korean gang in Los Angeles who “left” Seoul (though Taemin had whispered to Jongin that everyone actually knew Jaejoong had been exiled from his gang and fled to avoid being murdered) and Junsu--Jaejoong’s chronically flamboyantly dressed cousin with a boyish face and a warm easy smile who Jongin took to immediately.

 

Both men had been at a cluttered metal desk in the center of the small, brick walled room, Junsu seated in a worn leather desk chair, Jaejoong standing with his hand on Junsu’s shoulder, the two of them studying the stacks of paper in front of them. Junsu looked up first and winked at Taemin when he saw him enter the room.

 

“How many times do we have to tell you to not come in here unless you’re called for, Taemin?” Jaejoong said exasperatedly, his voice low and soft, not looking up from his work.

 

“But Jaejoong-hyung this is important!” Taemin bounded over to the desk and perched himself on the edge.

 

“Leave him alone, Joongie,” Junsu said, laughing. “Who’s your new friend, Tae?”

 

“This is Jongin!” Taemin continued, not missing a beat. He gestured to where Jongin was standing by the door. “I just met him by the elementary school. He said he has nowhere to go but it’s cold so I brought him here.”

 

Not used to being at the center of attention, Jongin felt his face flush and he concentrated his gaze down at his scuffed sneakers and the concrete floor. He felt uncomfortable--despite how much he wanted to trust Taemin, Jongin could feel his nerves getting the best of him. Jaejoong and Junsu were both staring at him--Jaejoong with cold, disinterest and Junsu with genuine enthusiasm.

 

“Well come over here.” Jongin looked up and saw Junsu waving him over. “Let’s take a look at you.” He went over and stood next to where Taemin was still sitting on the edge of the desk, legs swinging back and forth as they dangled.

 

“What’s your full name?” Jaejoong asked, his eyes darting up and down Jongin’s small body, sizing him up.

 

“Kim Jongin.” Jongin responded, his voice small.

 

“Don’t be scared,” Junsu said his voice light. “Jaejoong’s not going to hurt you. He just doesn’t know how to smile.”

 

Taemin laughed, covering his own wide grin with the back of his hand.

 

Jaejoong rolled his eyes at Junsu.

 

Junsu joined in on Taemin’s laughter, then leaned forward in his chair, placing both of his hands flat on the desk. His nails were flecked with black nail polish and his fingers glittered with diamond studded rings. “Jongin,” he said in a warm voice that made Jongin look up and make direct eye contact with him. Junsu smiled at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners just like Taemin’s had earlier. “Really,” he continued, “it’s ok. Taemin says you have nowhere to go. Is that right?”

 

Jongin nodded, still overwhelmed by the attention. He snuck a glance at Jaejoong who was still standing behind Junsu, his arms crossed over his chest.

 

“Where are your parents?” Jaejoong asked.

 

“My mom is dead.” Jongin responded, surprised at how easily it slipped out.

 

“And your father?”

 

“He’s dead too.”

 

Jaejoong raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Both your parents are dead?”

 

Jongin nodded. “Yes.”

 

Jaejoong quirked one of the corners of his mouth upwards. “That makes two of us.” Jaejoong sat down on the arm of Junsu’s chair. “How old did you say you were?”

 

“I just turned 10.”

 

“You’re around Tae’s age,” Junsu said, still smiling. “He’s 11.”

 

Taemin hopped down from his perch on the desk and went over to Jongin.

 

“So can he stay with us?” He asked.

 

Jaejoong walked over to Jongin and bent at the waist, his large eyes burning into Jongin’s own. Jongin caught his breath and tried his best to hold Jaejoong’s gaze. The older man smiled.

 

“Do you know what we do here, Jongin-ah?”

 

Jongin shook his head slowly. “No,” he said quietly, “I just followed Taemin.”

 

Jaejoong smiled and straightened, walking back over to Junsu’s side. Junsu smiled at Jongin apologetically. _Sorry_ , he mouthed.

 

“This is Cassiopeia,” Jaejoong said in the same low tone, his voice taking on an icy edge. “Junsu and I run this whole operation. We own this whole town--the drugs, the women, the loan sharking--it’s all ours. We make a profit off it all. And if you want to stay, then you have to chip in and help keep it running.”

 

Jongin felt his eyes grow wide. Jaejoong crossed his arms over his chest and sighed.

 

“So sure, you can stay. it doesn’t matter either way to me,” He continued with a dismissive wave of his hand. “As long as you don’t cause any problems and promise to pay your way. In return, you’ll have food, a warm place to sleep, and our protection.” He narrowed his eyes at Jongin and leaned in, his face so close that Jongin could see the faint blue circles of his contacts. “But you have to live by our rules,” Jaejoong whispered. “One fuck up-- and I mean one-- and you’re out. And by out, I mean, you’ll be _handled_. Understood?”

 

Unable to speak, Jongin nodded.

 

“I can’t hear you.”

 

“Understood,” Jongin said, his voice so low that he wasn’t even sure if he had said anything at all.

 

Jaejoong nodded at him, straightening up. He ran one long fingered hand through his soft brown hair and turned back to Junsu.

 

Taemin threw an arm around Jongin’s shoulders and smiled. “Yes! Thanks, Hyung!”

 

“Take care of him, Taeminnie,” Junsu said. “Make sure he gets settled and train him.” He turned to Jongin. “Welcome to Cassiopeia, Jongin-ah.”

 

* * * * *

It wasn’t until later that night that Jongin learned what Jaejoong had meant by “pay his way”. Though massively involved in Cassiopeia,  Junsu and Jaejoong didn’t do any of the dealing themselves. All of the distribution responsibilities were handled by the kids that the pair housed in the old factory. Taemin brought Jongin to the room that he shared with two older boys-- Minho and Baekhyun--both asleep on their cots. Taemin led him over to the empty cot pushed against the wall, under the only window high up near the lofty ceiling.

 

“You can share my bed until you get your own,” he whispered, trying not to wake the sleeping boys. Taemin reached underneath the cot and pulled out two threadbare t-shirts. “And you can borrow one of my shirts to sleep in. We can go get stuff for you tomorrow.”

 

Jongin took the shirt in both of his hands and stared at Taemin--watching the way the faint light from the street outside illuminated the very top of his head. Jongin was only a tiny bit shorter than Taemin but Taemin was much smaller, his bowl haircut making his face seem thinner than it probably was. Jongin felt a sudden rush of emotion and slowly, tears started to run down his cheeks, one after another.

 

“Oh,” Taemin said, his voice soft and hushed. “Oh no, Jongin, don’t cry. It’s going to be ok.” Jongin buried his face in the t-shirt and bit his lip, trying to muffle his sobs.

 

Taemin put his arms around the crying boy’s shoulders and brought him in for a tight hug. Jongin felt the t-shirt slip from his fingers and he clutched at the back of the other boy’s sweater, his cries becoming louder and the tears falling faster and faster.

 

“Shut the fuck up, Taemin, goddamn,” one of the other boys muttered, his head not rising from the pillow.

 

“Shh,” Taemin said, still holding Jongin. “You’re not alone anymore. You’re going to be safe here.” he said. “You’re like me.”

 

Jongin sniffled and looked up at Taemin. “Like you?”

 

Taemin smiled at him. “Yeah. My parents are gone too. Well, my mom’s dead. My dad is still around, though. But he doesn’t count.”

 

“Doesn’t count?” Jongin was confused. He would have done anything to still have his dad be in his life.

 

Taemin nodded. “He’s not much of a father.”

 

Jongin thought back to Yoon Chang.

 

“I guess I know what you mean.”

 

Taemin smiled at him softly and let him go.

 

“Bed?”

 

Jongin nodded. The two boys shed their clothes and changed into their t-shirts--Jongin’s still damp from his tears. They both climbed under the sheets and curled up next to one another, Taemin falling asleep almost instantly. Jongin lay there a while longer listening to the rise and fall of the sleeping breaths of the boys around him until the combined rhythms rocked him into unconsciousness.

\-----------------------------

 

Thinking back on it, Jongin was pretty sure that it took him three and a half months to really, actually, fall in love with Taemin.

 

It wasn’t a conscious decision. It didn’t hit him with a burning rush or a choking cry. It wasn’t like it happened in the books--Jongin didn’t blush or gasp or trip over himself. No, his love for Taemin had started slowly, like a gently thawing winter--the ice dripping, the days lengthening, the sun growing stronger and bolder, its light gently cracking through the dense gray clouds, warming and waking the earth below.

 

It had been an unseasonably warm day in mid-March. He and Taemin were standing at the entrance of the metro stop in the heart of downtown, trying to peddle enough money out of the evening rush hour commuters to contribute to the dinner fund. Jongin was hungry, the rolling growl of his stomach vibrating through his body. He held his crushed paper cup out as the next well dressed business woman walked past and shook the few coins inside around.

 

“Please?” He said, his voice small and desperate as she whisked by, gaze straight ahead. “Please, ma'am?” he called after her.

 

“You’re really bad at this.” Jongin looked over to Taemin, who was leaning against one of the station’s gray concrete support beams. He smirked at him, then pushed off with his whole body to stand next to Jongin.

 

Jongin glanced at Taemin’s empty hands.

 

“It’s not like you have any more money than I do!” Jongin frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “I wish the hyungs would just let me work like you and all the other guys.”

 

Taemin patted him on the head. “Soon, hoobae,” he said. “You’ve got to prove yourself first.”

Jongin scowled and shrugged away from Taemin’s touch. “Don’t call me hoobae. I’m not that much younger than you.”

 

Taemin laughed. “But I _am_ your sunbae. I’m the one who’s supposed to be training you. So you’re my hoobae.”

 

Jongin glared at him. “You’re not even doing anything! And how am I supposed to prove myself doing this?” he said, exasperated. “What does this have to do with Cassiopeia?”

 

Taemin shrugged. “Dunno. The hyungs say that if you can get good at talking people into giving you money, then you can sell anyone anything. They make all the guys do this before they let you sell. It’s just the way it works.”

 

Taemin smiled, his faded green sweater bunching up around his shoulders.

 

“And anyways, I'll have more than you in a minute.”

 

Jongin looked at him, defeated. “How? It’s almost 5:30 and we have to go back to the hyungs at 7. You don’t even have any money.” He pouted. “At this rate, we’re not going to be able to get anything for dinner.”

 

Taemin laughed out loud, his little boy face lighting up.

 

“No, I’ll get dinner,” he said. “I still work. I’m doing you a favor.” Taemin reached into his pocket and pulled out a beat up silver cell phone. Jongin watched as he fiddled with it for a moment and then it started playing an old Usher song, the sound faint and staticky.  “Let’s dance, Jongin.”

 

Jongin looked at him incredulously.

 

“What?” he said, confused. “I can’t dance!”

 

Taemin shrugged. “No big deal. I’ll teach you.”

 

“But I need to get money--” Jongin felt his face go red.

 

“Oh my god, chill out!” Taemin said, laughing. “Why are you always so _worried_? You’ll get the money this way, trust me.”

 

Taemin set the phone down, music still playing, and strutted to the center of the busy sidewalk.

 

And then, as easy as breathing, Taemin started to dance--popping and locking and waving to the beat. Jongin stood off to the side, in awe of his new friend. The rest of the sidewalk traffic seemed similarly entranced--the rush slowed to a halt as people stopped to watch Taemin dance. His body moved like water---slow and fast, smooth and sharp--his feet gliding across the pavement as if it were ice. Jongin gasped as Taemin dropped to the ground and folded over into a handstand before flipping upright into a bow just as the song faded out; his face lit up in amusement as the crowd applauded loudly, someone whooping in the background.

 

“See?” Taemin called over to Jongin, pointing at the pool of money that had collected at his feet. “I told you!”

 

Jongin just smiled and shook his head. “Yeah but I can’t dance like that.”

 

“Come on,” Taemin said, reaching out his hand. Another song started up. “Give it one try.”

 

Reluctantly, Jongin stood next to Taemin and watched, again, as his body easily slid into the beat of the music. Taking a deep breath, Jongin tried to follow his friend’s movements, his own body slowly fumbling through the popping movements. Taemin grinned at him and mouthed _take it slow_ and Jongin did, slowly finding his footing and growing bolder with each beat. The crowd had grown bigger and a loud “wow” sprung up when Taemin broke into a crisp top rock. Not trusting himself to not trip over his own toes, Jongin broke from mimicking Taemin and struck out on his own, turning on the toes of one foot like he’d seen on tv. The applause grew even louder and Taemin cried out in amazement.

 

“See!” he said, not missing a step, “I told you you could dance!”

 

Jongin smiled, really smiled, and felt a warmth spread from deep in his stomach up through his spine. He kept dancing--trying his hand at one of Taemin’s popping moves and earned another round of cheers from the crowd. But Jongin barely heard them. His attentions were focused on the boy next to him and every smile that he was able to coax out of him with each move. The song ended and morphed into another, then another, then another and the two boys kept dancing--Taemin leading, Jongin following. He glanced at Taemin who gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. For the first time that he could remember, Jongin felt a fluttering warmth deep inside his chest. And just like that, Jongin knew.

 

By the time 7 o’clock struck they had earned enough money to pay for two nights’ dinner.

 

* * * * *

After three weeks of panhandling on the streets, the Hyungs assigned him to Group 1 and he was tasked with selling cocaine to college students and teenagers on the nightclub circuit. There were 4 other boys in Group 1 and they worked Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. The rest of the time was theirs to do as they pleased. Jongin became fast friends with everyone in his group and he found that he enjoyed dealing. He liked being out late at night, watching the town light up with glowing club lights and cigarette butts. It turned out that he was an expert dealer--he sold more cocaine than anyone else in the first month. His customers interested him--most were young and glamorous, just looking for a quick hit to electrify their night but he got older people too-- dressed far more shabbily and who had a glassy, far away look in their eyes and a jittery jump in their step. Jongin wasn’t sure what to make of any of them, but he knew that these people, these distant, startled people, were the types that kept the Hyungs’ business alive. He liked to imagine what it was that these people did; what they’re lives were like when they weren't crawling the streets, looking for boys to buy drugs off of. Jongin liked to imagine that they had warm homes and children that they tucked into bed every night and husbands and wives that they kissed goodbye on their way out every morning. Jongin wanted that type of life for them.

 

He spent his free time hanging out with Taemin and the other boys. No one went to school (a fact that confused and disturbed Jongin at first) so they spent their days playing video games, watching movies on the huge flat screen in the factory’s rec room, and playing soccer outside. When he wasn’t doing those things, Jongin was reading. Without school, he was free to read whatever he wanted so he devoured novel after novel, quickly blowing through all of the books that Jaejoong and Junsu kept stocked for the boys. Junsu noticed Jongin’s huge appetite for reading and he started bringing him a new stack of books every Monday.

 

“I’m glad you like to read,” Junsu said one Monday night, his arms full of the latest science fiction novels. “Keep it up. These will probably be your ticket out of all this one day.”

 

So life in Cassiopeia was good. And for once, Jongin was really happy.

 

\---------------------------------------------

But Cassiopeia was an adjustment.

 

“So that’s Minseok, Yixing--he’s from China, apparently he snuck over here on a fishing boat or something---and Jongdae--he’s crazy, I heard loan sharks murdered his whole family but spared him cause he fought them off with kitchen knives,” Taemin said, pointing out a string of  boys as they walked past the table in one dinner time. “And over there’s Wonshik, Ten--he’s from Thailand, I have no clue how to pronounce his full name-- and Taeyong.”

 

Jongin nodded along, waving awkwardly as Jongdae made eye contact with him. There were about 40 others total--all boys, none older than 20--and Jongin soon learned that they were all runaways--some running for the hell of it, others running because their homes were violent--or orphans. Everyone had a backstory and Jongin’s head swirled with the effort of keeping all of the histories straight. There were a thousand rumors buzzing around nearly every boy--about what they had seen, where they had come from, what had happened to them. Some stories were so outrageous--one of the younger boys was rumored to have killed both of his parents in their sleep then run off with all of their money--that Jongin began to think that some of the boys must come up with the lies themselves in an attempt to impress everyone else.

 

“You basically get to be whoever you want to be here,” Taemin told him. “There’s no baggage. No one to tell you how to live or who to be. You get to make your own life.”

 

“So who are you?” Jongin asked.

 

Taemin shrugged. “Everyone. Anyone. No one.”

 

Jongin soon learned that Taemin was right. Out of all of Cassiopeia, Taemin was the only boy who _didn’t_ have a backstory. No one gossiped about Taemin, he didn’t have an extravagant history. He was just there.

 

Taemin confused Jongin. Though he had grown close to the older boy during his short time with the gang, there was something about Taemin that unsettled Jongin. Taemin was notoriously distant with most of the other boys. It hadn’t taken Jongin long to realize that despite his outgoing exterior, Taemin never opened up or shared with any of the other Cassiopeia members. Though friendly, Taemin seemed to mostly keep to himself, usually going off into an empty room when he got home from his daily errands. Jongin didn’t know what he did in there but he knew, just like all the other boys knew, that Taemin didn’t want to be bothered. There were times throughout the day when Taemin would fall eerily silent, his smiling face falling into a still, serious mask. But despite all this of the other boys seemed to like him--they all said hi whenever they saw him and he was often invited to play soccer or video games with the others. But no one seemed to really know anything about him.

 

“Taemin?” Minho said when Jongin asked him where Taemin was from. “No idea. I’ve never asked. He’s been here longer than me.”

 

“But he’s your roommate! You don’t know anything about him? Nothing?”

 

Minho shrugged.

 

“I mean, I wouldn’t say _nothing_ . I know he’s really good with a switchblade. And I think he speaks Japanese? And I know Jaejoong and Junsu really like him. He spends so much time with them.” Minho narrowed his eyes. “And with _you_. You two are always together. Shouldn’t you know these things?”

 

Though younger than most of the other boys, Taemin was known around Cassiopeia as Jaejoong and Junsu’s favorite. In addition to his usual drug dealing, Taemin ran special errands for Jaejoong, disappearing to Seoul for days at a time. He had a special relationship with the Hyungs--no one else would dare barge into the Hyung’s office without an invitation like Taemin was prone to do. Most of the other Cassiopeia boys treated the two gang leaders with a combination of fear and respect, but Taemin treated Junsu and Jaejoong with a type of familiarity--addressing them informally, teasing Jaejoong about his love of cats--that regularly made the other boys gape at him in disbelief.

 

And Minho was right. Whenever Taemin wasn’t out on special missions or locked away by himself, he was with Jongin-- dancing, dragging him along to play soccer outside, giving him the manga that he had finished so that Jongin could read it too and they could discuss, giving him tips on dealing cocaine to Cassiopeia’s older clients, or just talking. Jongin did know more about Taemin than any of the other boys. He remembered that first night, when Taemin had told him about his parents. Jongin still didn’t know much, but he knew that this knowledge was special and that Taemin had shared something with him that he hadn’t shared with anyone else. And for that, Jongin was grateful. For some reason, Taemin was different around Jongin--everyone could see it. Jongin is the only person that Taemin would seek out, the only person who Taemin ever let get close to him, the only person he ever, actually spoke with. It’d been that way since Jongin had first joined Cassiopeia and it startled everyone in the gang, even Jaejoong who drew him aside during his first month there and asked what he’d done to Taemin to make him talk.

 

Puzzled, Jongin just shrugged and said “Isn’t he always like this?” Jaejoong gave a rare laugh and shook his head. “Taemin never spends this much time with anyone. If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say that you drugged him to keep him around you like this.”

 

Despite the fog surrounding his new friend, Jongin felt comfortable with Taemin, more comfortable with him than with anyone else he had ever met.

 

They slept in the same room--Jongin’s cot under the large window, right next to Taemin’s. Every night, the two of them stayed up late whispering to one another, talking about everything and nothing. Minho and Baekhyun soon learned that nothing would stop the two boys from talking and they started sleeping with pillows over their heads to muffle the noise. The initial fear that Jongin had felt quickly faded away and soon he found himself sharing everything with Taemin and telling him about his mother and Yoon Chang and school. And Taemin listened, nodding with a seriousness that made him seem much, much older than his 11 years.

 

“I’m so sorry, Jonginnie,” Taemin had said. He got out of bed and went over to Jongin’s cot, slipping under the covers and pressing his front to Jongin’s back. Jongin had been crying, his throat tight and tears racing down his cheeks. Taemin wrapped his arms around the younger boy’s torso and buried his face in the nape of his neck.

 

“I’m so, so sorry,” he said again, his warm breath ruffling Jongin’s hair. “It’s ok now. It’s going to be ok now. I’m here.”

 

Jongin’s crying slowed, then eventually stopped. The two boys fell asleep entwined together that night. And from that night on, they shared a bed almost every night.

 

* * * * *

 

Taemin had been true to his word. He looked out for Jongin in the big ways--protecting him from the older boys who liked to pick on and steal money from some of the younger members, making sure that Jongin always got enough to eat at dinner, and making sure that he knew the borders of Cassiopeia territory-- and the small--bringing Jongin any books that he found that he thought he may like, and, most importantly, listening to Jongin, asking him about his day and sharing stories with him.

 

One night, when they were huddled together in bed, Jongin finally asked him.

 

It was late, probably more morning than night. Taemin had gotten back from one of his long trips to Seoul only a few hours before and the younger boy could tell that he was exhausted. Taemin had come straight into their room, shucked off his jeans and dove face first into Jongin’s pillows.

 

“Tae?”

 

“...hmmm?” Taemin sounded half asleep.

 

“Where are you always going? Why are you always away for so long?”

 

Taemin shifted next to him, his head moving on the pillow.

 

“You mean when I go places for Jaejoong?” He said after a minute.

 

“Yeah.” Jongin rolled over on to his back and stared at the ceiling. His heartbeat began to speed up. He felt wrong for asking Taemin the questions that no one else ever dared to ask.

 

Taemin was silent for so long that Jongin thought he had fallen back asleep.

 

“I’m actually not supposed to tell you,” he responded, finally his voice serious. “But what the hell.”

 

Jongin turned on his side to face Taemin. The other boy smiled at him but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. His face had lost its usual joy, a concrete mask sliding over instead.

 

“You know I know Japanese, right?”

 

Jongin nodded.

 

“And I’m guessing that you don’t know why?”

 

“I don’t know. No one knows.”

 

Taemin laughed softly.

 

“Yeah, I kind of want it to be like that. But yeah, I speak Japanese. I lived in Japan for a while--from the time I was 5 until I was about 9.”

 

“You’re Japanese?” Jongin would have never guessed. Taemin seemed as Korean as he did.

 

Taemin shook his head.

 

“No, I’m not. Both of my parents are Korean. I was born in Seoul. But my parents--” he hesitated, “My parents didn’t want me. No, that’s not right.” He stopped for a moment and furrowed his brow. “It’s not that they didn’t want me. They didn’t know how to take care of me. Both my parents were addicts--my mom loved alcohol, my dad loved pills. I’m not sure how I was even born with all that shit coursing through their systems but I popped up anyways. But babies aren’t very convenient when you’re an addict.”

 

Jongin’s breathing grew shallow.

 

“My mom didn’t last long,” Taemin continued. He was speaking very fast, his words bouncing into one another. “She died when I was 3. I barely remember her. So then it was just me and my dad. He got arrested a couple of times for public intoxication and would be locked up for a few days at a time--never that long, really. But then I would be left alone in the apartment with no food, no one to watch me, no heat in the winter. It was shitty. So so so shitty.”

 

At a loss for what to do, Jongin wrapped his arms around Taemin, holding him to his chest. The other boy took a deep breath and continued.

 

“After a while, he moved us to Osaka. He knew people there--drug people, yakuza I think-- and he thought things would be better. He had struck up some sort of deal with the yakuza guys--he’d do some work for them and they’d give him pills. Easy enough.

 

“Problem was, it didn’t work out, _nothing_ ever worked out. We were living in a tiny little apartment with 4 other people--all prostitutes. My dad was loan sharking or something and I was left to be taken care of by the prostitutes while he was out. They were nice, I liked them. They made me dinner, took me to school, helped me with my homework, taught me Japanese. They paid way more attention to me than my dad ever did. But they were always, high, like all the time. They’d take turns getting high when they would get home from shifts and I was always around that. And their pimps would come in and yell and hit them when they weren’t sober enough to work. Believe it or not, the yakuza really aren’t a place for little kid.

 

“And then one day, my dad was out working and it was just me and Yuki, one of the prostitutes. We were alone and I was watching cartoons or something--I think it was a Saturday afternoon--and a group of men came storming in. Yuki got scared and she grabbed one of the knives from the kitchen and started swinging it around. Turns out these guys were from a rival gang who the pimps owe money too. They easy subdued Yuki and then tore the place up, taking all the money that was stashed around and then they took me and Yuki. I was scared, I was so so scared. I didn’t know what was going to happen. I thought they were going to kill me. And I knew my dad wouldn’t even care.

 

“In the end, they took us back to their ‘headquarters’ or whatever and they left us alone in a room. Yuki sat in the corner, crying and crying and I just sat next to her, not saying anything. After a while, another guy came in and took Yuki, leaving me alone. I never saw her again. I don’t know what happened to her.

 

“I was alone in the room for two, maybe three days. I don’t really know. I just know that no one ever came for me. I just remember feeling scared and lonely, so so lonely like when Appa used to leave me alone in Korea. On the last day, two men came into the room and spoke to me in Korean. They asked me my name, my age, where I was from, what I was doing there. And I told them.” Taemin paused, closed his eyes and grinned.

 

“Turns out those two guys were Jaejoong-hyung and Junsu-hyung. They were doing business with the men who’d kidnapped me and heard that they had a boy they didn’t want. They told me I could come with them. That they would have a place for me. So I went. And I’ve had a home ever since.”

 

Jongin didn’t know what to say. His heart felt swollen with the pain he felt for Taemin and all of the love he wanted to give him. Taemin had suffered through so much, he’d been alone so long.

 

“Taemin,” he started, “I don’t know what to say. I’m really sorry.”

 

Taemin looked at the younger boy and smiled, his face melting into it’s usual cheerfulness.

 

“Don’t be sorry. Things are good now. I’m happy. I have a great life. And to--finally-- answer your question--Jaejoong sends me to Seoul a few times every month to receive shipments from the gang who had kidnapped me. They’re our main suppliers of heroin and pills. I’m the only boy here who speaks Japanese and Jaejoong trusts me. And no cop is going to stop a kid.”

 

Taemin brushed a stray hair out of Jongin’s eyes.

 

“Don’t feel sad for me, Jonginnie. Everything is exactly how it should be.”

 

\----------------------------------

 

It was four more years before Taemin knew that he loved him.

 

It was a Saturday night. Jaejoong and Junsu were hosting an influential head of a Filipino sex trafficking ring and were throwing a party in his honor in one of the other abandoned warehouses.  The whole space was dark, lit only with red backlighting and the air was thick with cigarette smoke, casting a hazy veil around the closely packed bodies as they moved in sync to the heavy bass of the music.

 

Jongin was leaning against the makeshift bar at the back of the room nursing a Hite and watching the party churn around him. He was tired--he’d been up since dawn that morning to meet a drug runner coming in from Seoul with the month’s cocaine shipment--and he would have much rather stayed behind at the soju factory and gone to bed. He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand.

 

“Not having fun?”

 

Key, one of the other Cassiopeia boys, was standing in front of him, smirking. “And aren’t you a little young to be drinking?”

 

Jongin rolled his eyes at him and looked pointedly at the bottle of soju in Key’s hand.

 

“You’re not old enough either. Last time I checked, you were only 17 and I’m pretty sure the drinking age is 19.”

 

Key made a face at him. “And I’m pretty sure you’re still a smart ass.” He moved to stand next to Jongin and the two boys watched the party together. Jongin liked Key. He had joined Cassiopeia the year after Jongin and been assigned to Group 1. Jongin had been tasked with training him. Key had risen up the ranks quickly, proving to be a fast student and an expert dealer who was also handy with a .22. Jaejoong and Junsu often sent him to handle distributors and clients who hadn’t paid in full. Most of the other Cassiopeia members were afraid of Key. Jongin, however, was not. The two had become fast friends--Key’s loud personality balancing out Jongin’s quiet demeanor.

 

“So where’s Tae?” Key asked. “It’s not like him to miss something like this.”

 

Jongin took a sip of his beer. “No he’s here. He’s in the crowd dancing somewhere.”

 

Key cocked an eyebrow. “Dancing without you? Interesting.”

 

A hot flash of jealousy flared up in Jongin’s chest.

 

“Yeah,” he continued after a minute. “He’s with some girl from the high school. Minji or something? I don’t fucking know.” He gripped the neck of his beer bottle hard. “He’s probably done dancing now, anyways. They’re probably off fucking somewhere.” He took another sip of his beer, trying to temper the bitterness rising in the back of his throat.

 

Key sighed and reached into his jeans pocket and took out a pack of menthols and a lighter. He held them out to Jongin.

 

“Here. You look like you need this.”

 

Jongin shook a cigarette out, brought it to his lips and lit it. He closed his eyes as he took a drag and exhaled dramatically, adding to the haze around them.

 

“Fuck it.”

 

Sighing again, Key slung an arm around Jongin’s shoulders.

 

“You’re going to have to tell him one day, you know,” Key said. “You can’t keep going on like this; going to parties with him hoping that he’ll spend the whole night with you and then getting pissed whenever he goes off with a girl.”

 

Key was aware of Jongin’s feelings for Taemin. One night, he  stumbled upon Taemin and Jongin sitting on the factory roof, legs dangling off the edge, shoulders touching, talking. He had seen the way that Jongin’s eyes roved over Taemin’s face as he spoke and heard the way Jongin’s voice grew sweet but sure when he responded to Tae’s questions about his day and shared details about the history book he was reading. He saw the way Jongin relaxed into Taemin’s touch when the other boy reached to put his arm around him. He saw the way that Jongin’s smile lit up, bright enough to rival the night’s full moon. And Key knew. Jongin hadn’t even had to tell him.

 

“...yes I can,” Jongin mumbled.

 

“Stop being impossible. You can’t. It’s going to eat you up on the inside if you go on loving your best friend in secret like this.”

 

Jongin laughed bitterly. “So what the fuck am I supposed to do, Key? Just go up to him and say ‘Hey Taemin, I don’t know if you’re gay or anything and I’m not really sure if I’m gay either but there’s something about you that makes me want to kiss you?’”

 

Key shrugged. “I mean, that’s a pretty good summary of this entire situation, so why not?”

 

Jongin took another drag off of his cigarette and blew the smoke into Key’s face.

 

“Yo, what the hell!” Key backed away coughing.

 

“You’re being dumb.”

 

“So?”

 

“That’s never going to work, Key,” Jongin responded, defeat in his voice.

 

Key rolled his eyes. “You’re the only person that Taemin ever really speaks to and spends time around. You’re the only person who really really knows him. If you can’t tell him that you love him, hell if he doesn’t already _know_ , then I don’t know what to tell you.”

 

Jongin sighed. He knew Key was right. And as much as he wanted to tell Taemin, he was afraid. He knew that Taemin loved him--that much was clear. The two boys had been inseparable since the first day that Taemin had found him sitting alone in the cold. But of the boundaries of that love--where it started, where it stopped, and whether or not it crossed into the deeper territory of romance--Jongin had no idea. Sometimes Taemin did things that hinted at something more like when he’d pull Jongin in for a hug and hold on just a moment longer than necessary or the way that he’d reach out to brush a strand of too long hair out of Jongin’s eyes or the way that Taemin would leave his own bed at night and get into Jongin’s, wrapping his arms around the other boy’s torso and holding him close. But other times--like when Taemin would bring girls over in the middle of the night when he thought the other boys were asleep, and fuck them loudly in the same room, only to kick them out then _still_ climb under the covers with Jongin, smelling of their sweat and perfume--made him not so sure.

 

Jongin looked down at the floor, hiding his eyes.

 

“Hey, hey,” sensing his sadness, Key stepped in close again and put his hands on Jongin’s shoulders. “It’s ok. It’s going to be alright. I get why you’re afraid to tell him. Hell, I’d be scared too if I were in your situation. But it’s worth a shot, alright? Taemin loves you--whether it’s as a brother or something more--I don’t think anything can change that.”

 

“Change what?” Jongin jumped a what felt like a foot away from Key to see Taemin standing in front of the other two boys, looking at them quizzically. He looked good--he was wearing old skinny jeans, torn at the knees, a semi sheer black t-shirt, and Converse, his reddish brown hair disheveled.

 

“Nothing,” Key said, not missing a beat. “I’m trying to get Jongin to switch rooms with me cause Suho snores, but he’s not letting up.”

 

Taemin laughed and snatched the still burning cigarette out of Jongin’s hand, taking a puff.

 

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” he said exhaling a long plume of smoke. “Jonginnie’s never leaving me.”

 

Key smirked. “That’s for sure. I, on the other hand, am. I’m gonna go dance. See you both later.”

 

Jongin nodded at Key as he left then turned his attention to Taemin, who was still smoking.

 

“So,” he started, his voice uneven, “Where’s Minji?”

 

Taemin shrugged and stubbed out the cigarette on the bar top. “She left. I got tired of her.”

 

“You got tired of her?”

 

Taemin shrugged again. “She was boring. She wasn’t even interested in dancing, she just wanted to do coke and I hate coke.” He grimaced. “Ugh.” He snatched up Jongin’s mostly empty beer bottle and drained it.

 

The music stopped for a moment and the two boys watched as the DJ stepped down from the booth, making way for a new one to come up and start her set. She fiddled around for a moment and then the bass came in, starting a raunchy hip hop song.

 

“Dance with me,” Jongin said, the words coming out of his mouth before he was really even sure what he was saying.

 

Taemin looked at him and grinned.

 

“Sure.”

 

Jongin took the other boy’s hand and they made their way into the writhing crowd, twisting around numerous grinding couples before they found a space of their own.

 

Jongin’s heart was racing. He and Taemin had danced together more times than he could count--on the street, in their bedroom, at parties--but he knew that it was different this time. Taemin smiled at him and started to move, his body picking up the beat immediately and rolling to the slow, seductive rhythm. Jongin froze for a minute, unable to will his body into movement, until Taemin rolled his eyes at him and then turned around, matching his back with Jongin’s front, hips moving all the while. Jongin’s body began to match Taemin’s movements, falling into a slow, circular grind that sent lightning through his bones and set his mind on fire. Jongin set his hands on Taemin’s hips and lost himself in the bass of the song and the feel of his best friend’s body moving against his own. He couldn’t help but think back to the first time that he had ever danced with Taemin, and the way that he had fallen in sync with his body then before finding his own footing. He didn’t want to find his own footing this time, Jongin decided. He wanted Taemin to set this pace. He would follow him wherever he led.

 

The song changed, morphing into a slow, winding beat and Taemin stayed where he was, moving his body in time to the music. They had never danced like this. Never with their bodies so close, never with this electricity running coursing through them. Taemin worked his hand up, placing it on the back of Jongin’s neck and drawing his face down to the crook of his shoulder. Breathing in, Jongin inhaled the scent of the other boy’s warm skin and cheap cologne, fighting the urge to leave soft kisses along the line of his neck.

 

“Jongin.” Taemin turned around to face the younger boy, his body still dancing.

 

Surprised, Jongin started to pull away, but Taemin wrapped both his arms around his neck, holding him close.

 

“Jongin,” he said again, his voice low and hot, his brown eyes serious, “I’m going to try this. If you don’t want it, then that’s fine. I won’t be mad. I just…”

 

He trailed off and Jongin watched as his eyes flicked down to the other boy’s lips before he leaned in and pressed his own against them.

 

Jongin responded immediately, kissing Taemin back enthusiastically, their lips moving together as fluidly as their bodies danced. Jongin’s mind had stilled to complete silence, all of his energy invested in the way his friend’s lips felt against his own. There was no battle for dominance, instead their lips gave and took in equal measure, thrilling Jongin down to the core. Taemin parted his lips and slowly, slowly ran his tongue over Jongin’s lower lip, making the other boy shudder. Taemin grinned into the kiss, then drew back.

 

“So,” he said, still grinning at Jongin.

 

Jongin quirked the left corner of his kiss swollen lips upwards in disbelief.

 

“So,” he said, breathless. “Where the hell did that come from?”

 

Taemin pushed his face into the crook of Jongin’s neck. Jongin instinctively wrapped his arms around the other boy’s small frame.

 

“I heard you and Key,” he said into his skin. “I mean, I didn’t hear everything, but I heard enough to guess that you were talking about you loving me.”

 

He lifted his head to make direct eye contact with Jongin.

 

“Thing is, I love you too, Jonginnie,” Taemin said, a small smile on his face. “Always have. You know me better than anyone else. You’re my best friend. How could I not want you.”

 

Jongin didn’t know what to say.

 

“But all the girls...?”

 

Taemin shrugged. “Girls are girls. A distraction is a distraction. None of them are you.”

 

A thousand other questions rushed to the tip of Jongin’s tongue, a million jumbled words filled his mind. But instead, Jongin simply leaned in to ghost a kiss over Taemin’s full lips.

 

“I love you too.”

\--------------------------------------

Things were different after that.

 

They started tip toeing around each other. A new soft nervousness had appeared in their relationship. Both boys tried to relearn one another, finding the parts that they had missed the first time around. They were hesitant in their love and they took it slowly, knowing where the bumps and scrapes lay on each other’s souls. They decided that nighttime would be their time. They took their time filling and refilling the familiar divisions in the midnight hours with their laughter, secrets, and fears. They would climb the rusty staircase--up, up--and sit on the factory roof and watch the town sleep beneath them. Jongin felt the most safe there, high up above it all, their legs dangling off the edge, swinging back and forth in time to the wind. As the night wore on, he would fold over and put his head in Taemin’s lap, the older boy’s fingers finding their way into his hair and soothing over his scalp. He would close his eyes and let Taemin’s voice--his musings over the waning day, his plans for the day soon to come, his blushing declarations of love--lull him into a tingling warmth. They took it slow. They eased themselves into one another.

 

* * * * *

 

“Jonginnie?”

 

“...yeah?”

 

They were up on the roof, lying on an old comforter. It was just past midnight on the last day of Chuseok and that year, like every year, the Hyungs had thrown a huge dinner for Cassiopeia with lots of food and flowing alcohol. It had been raucous (that year, like every year, no fewer than three people had passed out at the dinner table). They had fled to the roof to avoid the last of the drunken partying and they were splayed out on their backs, watching the bright orange harvest moon sit in the sky. Jongin had lit a joint and they passed it back and forth, the earthy marijuana mingling with that certain crisp smell that always seemed to float on the air in autumn.

 

Taemin took a drag on the joint, the tip sparking red, and he exhaled, letting out a small ghost of smoke that Jongin watched float up above them before dissipating. Despite the chill in the air,  he felt a warmth spread through his body like liquid honey.

 

“Did you have a good Chuseok?” Taemin asked. He passed the joint to Jongin.

 

Jongin took a hit and nodded.

 

“Mhmm. I always do.” Every Chuseok he had with Cassiopeia was better than anything he’d ever had growing up. It was hard not to love them. “Did you?”

 

“Yeah. Of course.” Taemin started. His voice quivered and he sounded irregularly nervous. Jongin turned over on to his side to face the other boy.  “I just--”

 

“Hey, what’s up?” Jongin leaned in to kiss Taemin on the lips. The older boy kissed him back, his lips soft and smokey. Jongin leaned back and looked Taemin in the eyes. “You ok, Tae?”

 

Taemin shifted next to him and took the joint out of Jongin’s hands, stubbing it out on the concrete.

 

“Jongin, I love you,” he said after a moment, his voice soft. “I love you so much.”

 

“I love you too, Tae,” he responded, smiling gently. “What’s wrong?” It had been over a year since the night at the party when Taemin first told Jongin that he loved him and even now, Jongin still felt his breath catch whenever he heard the other boy repeat those words.

 

“Nothing’s wrong.” Taemin scooted closer to him and put his head on his chest. Jongin wrapped his arm around the older boy’s waist. “It’s just--you know--Chuseok is supposed to be all about spending time with your family and loved ones and all that--”

 

“I _know_ that Tae. You can spare me the Korean culture lesson.”

 

Taemin pinched him in the side.

 

“Ouch, ok sorry. But Tae, we already spend Chuseok with our family. We always spend it with Cassiopeia.”

 

“Yeah, but I want something different this year,” Taemin said, his voice serious. “I mean, I got dinner with my family. I just want to spend it with you. I want to spend tonight with you.”

 

Jongin frowned, confused. “We are spending tonight together? And we spent all day together.”

 

Taemin pulled Jongin in close, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Jongin put his arms around the other boy instinctively.

 

“I’m no good at this,” Taemin said, his breath warm on his neck. Jongin felt him leave a kiss on his pulse. “I want to show you how much I love you, Jonginnie. I want to know if you’ll let me.”

 

A jolt ran up Jongin’s spine.

 

“You mean…?”

 

Taemin chuckled softly then brought his head up to kiss him on the lips.

 

“Yes, ‘I mean’. I want to have sex with you Jonginnie. I want to know if you want that too.”

 

Jongin brought his hand up and tangled his fingers in Taemin’s hair. He’d dyed it earlier that week--back to black--and it was still silky smooth from the hair dye. Jongin gently pressed his forehead against his boyfriend’s and looked straight into his brown eyes, his iris’ ringed in uncertainty.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathed out, his voice as light and soft as smoke. “Yes, Taeminnie, yes.”

 

They hadn’t had sex before, not yet. They’d been careful--Taemin, the more experienced of the two, not wanting to push Jongin until they were both ready--and Jongin, the most romantic one, had wanted their first time to be perfect. They had mulled over the intricacies of the how and when and the why, they’d spent hours (on rooftops, in bed, in clubs, tucked away in alleyways) touching, tracing, and finding out what made the other gasp and cry out. But they’d never gone all the way. Jongin thought that it was only right that their first time together was on their rooftop, with only the moon to bear witness. It was only right that they would come together at the cusp of two seasons. They were a pair built on transitions.

 

They started off slowly, trading simmering kisses, their bodies flowing to and from one another. They had both discarded their clothes and their skin--Jongin’s its usual burnished brown, the last of Taemin’s summer tan softly fading away--was open to the moonlight.

 

Taemin’s touch was scalding on Jongin’s skin, his fingers tracing burning paths down his chest, his mouth following close behind, soothing the fire. Jongin let his eyes slide shut and he gasped softly.

 

“Is this alright?” Taemin murmured in his skin, his voice sending small vibrations through Jongin’s body.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Jongin keened, his voice both high and soft.

 

Taemin slipped his hand all the way down and took Jongin in his hand, squeezing gently before pumping him.

 

Jongin cried out. It was only right.

 

“And this?”

 

“ _Yes, yes so right._ ”

 

Taemin moved his mouth back up to kiss Jongin deeply, his tongue flicking against the other boys, his lips full and demanding. Taemin moved his lips down and across, nipping and sucking at Jongin’s neck and collarbone.

 

Jongin found it hard to breathe. He gasped and gasped, trying to suck as much of the cold September air into his lungs as he could. Taemin was a firestorm and he was sure he was going to incinerate.

 

Taemin’s hand stopped moving over his dick and he slid his fingers lower, circling them over Jongin’s entrance before moving them back up to press against Jongin’s kiss reddened lips.

 

Instinctively, Jongin opened his lips and sucked on Taemin’s fingers, making them dripping wet.

 

“You’re so perfect, Jonginnie,” Taemin whispered as he slid his fingers back down and pushed against his entrance, his index finger breeching. “So so perfect, baby.”

 

Jongin’s breaths fell into sync with the beat of the fullness of Taemin’s fingers. One finger became two, became three and then three became not enough when Taemin pressed up against the button deep inside him, causing tears to spark in his eyes and for him to shout out Taemin’s name.

 

Taemin kissed him in the space between his eyes. “Are you ready?”

 

Jongin opened his eyes and saw the soft smile in his boyfriend’s eyes.

 

“I love you,” he said, reaching up to touch Taemin’s face. “I love you so much.”

 

Taemin leaned in to kiss him again.

 

“I love you too, Jongin,” he whispered into the other boy’s mouth.

 

Sex was like dancing, Jongin decided.The electricity, the heat, the passion--if it wasn’t dancing, then Jongin didn’t know how else to describe it. Taemin moved inside him with an intensity that could only rival the rhythm that he followed when dancing. Jongin struggled to keep up--hitching his legs higher up on Taemin’s waist, arching his back, wrapping his arms around the other boy’s shoulders, moaning into his mouth. Breathless, Taemin chuckled.

 

“Take it slow, Jonginnie. Take it slow.”

 

And so he did, shutting his eyes and letting Taemin set the beat. How perfect was it, Jongin thought, how perfect was it dance would be the thing that would constantly bind them together.

 

“Is this alright?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Tell me you like this.”

“It’s perfect.”

 

So right. So perfect.

So perfect. So right.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. . .
> 
> Sorry about the super long absence (but I did warn you!) I've been super super busy with work and studying. And this chapter was most definitely the hardest for me to write--there's so much world and character building but it's been so much fun figuring out what type of people Taemin and Jongin really are. I could probably get lost in this world and probably never finish the rest of the fic (which probably means that I'll do some one-shot interludes later on. also sorry for the weak smut at the end, I'm really really bad at it lmao). This is only the first half of chapter 5, part 2 is coming a bit later. I had to split it because it was getting RIDICULOUSLY long--this part is 23 pages as it is.
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	6. Chapter 5.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: gore, violence, general angst

“Wake up! Everyone up and in the kitchen now!”

 

Jongin groggily opened his eyes to Junsu shouting and the sounds of footsteps thundering down the hall. Baekhyun and Minho were groaning and shifting around in their beds. Taemin was sitting up in bed, sleepily running a hand over his face. Jongin glanced at the time on his charging cellphone. _4:09 am_. He and Taemin had come down from the rooftop only an hour and a half before.

 

There was another loud bang on their door.

 

“Get the FUCK up!” Junsu shouted, his voice shrill and cracking. “Get up!”

 

Jongin looked at Taemin who had sprung out of bed. Minho and Baekhyun who were already sprinting down the hall. It wasn’t like Junsu--mild, sweet Junsu--to be running and screaming down the halls. Something was seriously wrong.

 

“Come on, Jongin!” Taemin yelled, throwing a sweatshirt at his face. Jongin slipped it on over his bare chest and followed Taemin out of the room and into the kitchen, where most of the other boys had gathered, most yawning and some still dressed in the same clothes from earlier. The table was still messy, covered with dirty dishes and empty soju bottles left over from dinner and the sink was full of dirty pots and pans. Ten and Wonshik both had their heads down on the table, still drunk from earlier. The room was full, all of the seats taken. Taemin and Jongin slipped in and stood at the back near the door. Jongin glanced over at Taemin who was frowning with his arms crossed across his chest. He could feel the anxiety rising in his own throat. This had never happened before. It wasn’t like Junsu and Jaejoong to call a meeting late at night.

 

“What the hell is going on?” Key came to stand beside him, still wearing his house slippers and pyjamas.

 

Jongin shrugged. “No idea.”

 

Key frowned and looked around. “Where’s Jaejoong-hyung? Did you see him in the hall?”

 

Jongin shook his head. “No. Maybe he’s with Junsu?”

 

Junsu came rushing in, banging the door open behind him. He shoved his way to the center of the room and stood on top of the empty chair that one of the boys had saved for him.

 

“Shut up! Everyone, quiet!” Junsu yelled, his voice frantic. “Shut the fuck up!”

 

The room immediately fell silent. Junsu looked haggard and disheveled, his usually neatly styled hair hanging around his face in an oil curtain. His red-ringed eyes darted back and forth, scanning the crowd gathered in front of him. He was wearing a threadbare gray t-shirt flecked with what looked like rusty red paint and torn jeans, a far cry from his normally colorful and carefully constructed outfits.

 

His face seemed closed off, the warm smile that had soothed Jongin so many times was replaced with an uneasy expression that Jongin didn’t recognize. Junsu was wringing his hands, the rings on his fingers flashing in the fluorescent light.

 

Junsu took multiple quick breaths, his chest rapidly rising and falling.

 

“LISTEN!” He shouted at the quiet room, his voice hoarse. “I-” He took another deep breath.

 

“Jaejoong is dead.”

 

Shouts of disbelief came from the crowd. Jongin’s eyes opened wide and he heard Taemin gasp beside him, his arms coming down from his chest to wrap around his stomach as if he was trying to keep the rest of his breaths from escaping. Junsu stared down at the floor, unable to make eye contact.

 

“What?” Key yelled.

 

“Shut up!” Junsu screamed, his voice hitching higher. “No one say anything!”

 

The boys fell silent again, but the air felt uneasy--too close. It was like the room had picked up Junsu’s frenetic energy, the wild energy of fear and uncertainty ricocheting between the closely packed bodies. Jongin felt feverish, his body trembling with flu-like hot-cold shivers. Jaejoong couldn’t be _dead_. Jaejoong couldn’t die. Jaejoong’s, well, _Jaejoong_. He’s their hyung. He’s invincible. He’s always supposed to be there.

 

This irrationality of Jaejoong’s death seemed to have struck Junsu just as hard. He was breathing hard and his voice was low and labored, as if each word he spoke was made of iron.

 

Jaejoong had been shot that morning. Junsu hadn’t seen who had done it. After the last of the Chuseok feast had faded into a drunken mumblings, Jaejoong had talked Junsu into going outside to watch the moon set in the parking lot. Jaejoong had been drunk, Junsu said.  He had been swerving, laughing loudly. Junsu--always sober, he never drank-- had had to hold him up so that he didn’t tumble to the sidewalk. Anyone could have heard them. Or seen them. Jaejoong had plenty of enemies. The bullet had come from far away--maybe one of the other rooftops? Maybe someone hiding in the shadows? Maybe they had been waiting for Jaejoong to come out all night? Maybe they had been waiting there _every night_ , just like that, waiting for the perfect moment?

 

Junsu was breathing hard, each one of his gasps raspy and loud in the silent kitchen. Jongin felt his chest grow tight, as if Junsu was sucking all of the oxygen out of the room. He balled his hands into two tight fists.

 

Fat tears were running down Key’s face and he was biting his lip as if to keep from sobbing out loud. Taemin had sunk to the floor, his arms still wrapped around his stomach, legs splayed out in front him. He was staring blankly at the floor, his hair hanging into his eyes.

 

Everyone in the room seemed to be stuck in a thick daze--eyes staring blankly ahead, soft sobs muffled in fists. Time seemed to be moving both too quickly and too slowly. Junsu eventually gave up on trying to explain the night’s events and then ran off in the direction of the front door saying something about “making a plan.” The rest of the boys trickled out of kitchen and went back to their rooms, the kitchen floor beginning to streak gold with the light of the rising sun leaking in through the windows. Key placed his hand on the back of Jongin’s neck and looked pointedly at Taemin who was still curled up on the floor.

 

“Take care of him.”

 

Jongin nodded and watched as Key slipped out of the kitchen with the others.

 

Taking a deep breath, Jongin knelt down next to his friend.

 

“Tae?” he said, cautiously. Taemin didn’t respond.

 

“Taemin?” Jongin tried again. “Taeminnie? Please say something.”

 

“...where is he?” Taemin didn’t look up from his knees.

 

“Where’s who?”

 

“Where’s Jaejoong-hyung?”

 

Jongin felt his throat grow tight.

 

“Taemin...he’s not here. He’s gone.”

 

Taemin reached over and grabbed one of Jongin’s hands, squeezing tight.

 

“I know,” he said after a moment, still not looking up. “But I need to see him.”

 

Jongin squeezed Taemin’s hand back.

 

“Ok.”

 

They made their way up the two flights of stairs to the Hyungs’ living area. Usually the boys weren’t allowed onto the floor but Jongin and Taemin knew that things were different this time. Taemin led the way--shuffling into the hyungs’ bedroom, almost like he had been hypnotized, Jongin trailing behind him. Taemin entered the dark room first and stopped still at the foot of the bed, staring down. Jongin followed his gaze down to the bed where Jaejoong ( _no, not Jaejoong. What’s left of Jaejoong_ ) was lying.

 

He’d been shot in the side of the head. Whoever pulled the trigger hadn’t really known what they were doing--it was a messy shot. The impact of the bullet had shattered the left side of his skull, reducing half of his head to a black and red pulp, blood and brain matter oozing on the bed and a drying stream of bloom trickling out of his open mouth and down to his shirt collar.

 

Jongin felt lightheaded at the gore and he swallowed multiple times in quick succession, trying to keep himself from vomiting. There was a loud whooshing in his ears, like the blood in his own head had started rushing around like storm waves.

 

He turned his eyes away from the bed and instead focused on Taemin who was clutching at the endboard and staring at Jaejoong’s body with a stony intensity. His eyes darted back and forth rapidly, scanning over Jaejoong as if he was trying to memorize every detail of the horror in front of him.

 

“...Taemin,” Jongin whispered. He couldn’t barely hear his own voice. “Taemin.”

 

The other boy didn’t respond. He just kept staring forward.

 

Jongin took a deep breath. The room reeked of blood and ash and the smell made his head throb. There was an anger, a rich sadness boiling up inside of him. It was different, he decided. Different from the dull numb anguish he had felt after Umma’s death. It was a full sort of sadness. A complicated pain.

 

He placed one of his hands over Taemin’s. The older boy didn’t turn to him or speak but he loosened his grip of the endboard and tangled his clammy fingers with Jongin’s own, squeezing tightly. The two boys stood there like that, watching their hyung’s body grow cold with their fingers intertwined, the dull boom of their pounding hearts playing backbeat to the roaring in Jongin’s ears in a sick sort of melody. The thread of that melody continued to play, the reverberating dread weaving its way through the next horrors; through the two boys’ long, quiet walk back to their room. Through Jaejoong’s eerie funeral service a week later where Jongin sat rod straight in his starchy suit sandwiched between a stoic Taemin and a scared looking Minho in the front row of the chapel listening to Junsu break down in heaving sobs at the pulpit as he delivered Jaejoong’s eulogy. Through the huffing and puffing as Cassiopeia packed up the factory and loaded on to vans and headed to Seoul where Junsu said they would make a “new start”. Through the long drive into the new city on a wet, cold October day to that old, crumbling apartment building where they made their new home. Through the frenzied disorganization of those first few tumultuous months as Jongin and the other boys worked double time dealing everything from marijuana to speed to heroin on the streets as a rapidly unraveling Junsu tried to carve out a space for Cassiopeia in the overcrowded Seoul drug market. Through all those times that Jongin came home late at night to find Junsu passed out cold in the building lobby, reeking of stale soju and rum. And every time that Jongin just crept past him, leaving his hyung alone and cold on the floor.

 

And through the changes in Taemin. Taemin, who started spending more time out on assignments--sometimes venturing off with Junsu for days at a time, but more often going out on his own to places unknown to Jongin. Taemin would come home to their shared room and then go straight to sleep, covering his head with the comforter whenever Jongin would try to press him for details. He wasn’t any more forthcoming during the day either--Taemin spent more time alone, locked in rooms for hours on end. He rarely spent time with the other Cassiopeia members--he preferred to spend his remaining free time with Jongin. But they didn’t spend as much time together, not like they used to before moving to Seoul. They still did all the same things--talking late into the night, sneaking away to the roof to lay together and run their hands over smooth skin and tight muscle, but things were undoubtedly different. Jongin couldn’t get Taemin to talk like he used to--for the first time in years, Taemin stopped talking about himself. Instead, Jongin filled their time together with stories of his own day and his own thoughts. Taemin listened as attentively as he ever had but no matter how close their two bodies were, Taemin never seemed as close as he had been before. His laughter was softer and the light that usually danced in his eyes had dimmed as if it were trying to shine its way through thick curtains. When they made love, the frank openness that Jongin had cherished from their first time together was muted. It wasn’t like anything was wrong, not really. Taemin still loved him--Jongin knew that for certain. He felt it in the way Taemin still smiled for him, in the way he still held him, in the way he still touched him.  And he still loved Taemin, with all his heart. But nothing was the same. Not quite.

 

\-------

 

Their time in Seoul passed like that, the months slipping by, the brisk Seoul autumn slipping into a frigid, lonely winter then to wet spring and a humid early summer. Jongin tried his best to adapt to the changes in the gang and the changes in himself. He didn’t like Seoul. The city was too loud, too busy. Everything moved too quickly there. He had no time to pause--no time to play soccer or video games with Minho or any of the others. No time to read. No time for himself. No time to be a kid. Because he was still a kid, he reasoned to himself. He was only 16. Shouldn’t he at least be able to do what other 16 year old Seoulites did?

 

Cassiopeia started to fray. Left to lead without Jaejoong, Junsu stumbled his way through reforming the gang in the middle of buzzing Seoul struggling to carve out a place for Cassiopeia in the city’s already overcrowded drug market. He had become frantic and paranoid in equal parts. He was jittery and had stopped sleeping, opting instead to stay up all night pacing the apartment building-- soju in hand, a .44 in the other-- mumbling to himself about targets to meet, clients to contact, and panicking about whether or not the people who killed Jaejoong would come back to kill him. Jongin would lie awake at night, curled next to Taemin’s sleeping frame listening to the sound of his hyung’s footsteps wandering the halls, his voice low and manic, whispering about all the nightmarish and bloody ways that he would be hunted down and murdered. Most nights, Jongin expected to hear the sick pop of a gunshot before sunrise.

 

Junsu’s instability took a toll on the rest of Cassiopeia, his spiraling neurosis scaring off the members in droves who set off in search of other groups to take them in.

 

“You’re leaving too!?” Jongin stared at bulging backpack slung over Jongdae’s shoulder.

 

The older boy shrugged.

 

“Of course I’m leaving,” he responded. “Junsu-hyung has lost it. All he does is drink all night and spend all day fucking up contracts with other kkang-pae. We haven’t made any money since we came to Seoul.”

 

“But you can’t just leave like this!” Jongin started to panic. It was June and more than half of Cassiopeia had left. Ten and Wonshik had left last week, seeking out a smaller gang in Itaewon that specialized in loan sharking and prostitution. The apartment building had emptied out, the vacant rooms once teeming with teenage boys, now full of long, dark shadows.

 

Jongdae laughed. “Yes I can, Jonginnie. I’m getting out of here and out of kkang-pae. I’m going to try to go back to school.”

 

“School?”

 

Jongdae nodded. “Yeah. I was talking to one of my clients-- you know the one, the Seoul-Dae professor?--and he said that he knows a good cram school that I could go to so I can get caught up and maybe go to university. I found a place in Guro with some other guys that I know from the streets. We’re gonna split the rent.” Jongdae sighed. “I’m tired of this life, Jongin. I can do so much better, I could be a normal person--become an accountant or a teacher or something, be a real salaryman and not have to worry about the cops all the time.” He paused. “We’re all so much more than this life, Jongin. Junsu-hyung isn’t going to support us anymore, hell, he can barely take care of himself. We all need to get out of here. We can all do something more. You, especially.”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yeah, you. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met--you could easily go back to school or get a normal job and be crazy successful. You’d probably be amazing at whatever you set your mind to.” Jongdae put his hand on Jongin’s shoulder. “Think about it, yeah? Cassiopeia is dead.”

 

Jongin found himself turning Jongdae’s words over in his head over the next few weeks. He knew the other boy was right--Cassiopeia _was_ dead. Junsu was barely alive. There was nothing left for him here. He wanted to leave, too. He hadn’t told anyone this, not even Taemin, but a few years ago he’d started dreaming about becoming a journalist. He wanted to be able to write things that people would want to read, stories that distilled the present moment and would be revisited in the future to help explain the past. Kkang-pae life wasn’t really for him either. He had always wanted to go back to school, maybe go to university. Jongin wanted so much more for himself. And he knew that the streets were not the place where he could ever have those dreams come true. But no matter how badly he wanted out, he couldn’t leave--not alone. He wasn’t going to leave Taemin.

  
So Jongin kept quiet about his desire to leave Cassiopeia. The summer dragged on, each day steamier than the next. The Seoul concrete baked in the sun all day, only to belch the hot air back into the streets all night long. Everyone stopped wearing shirts inside the building and they kept the windows flung wide open all night, hoping that a cool breeze would come in off of the Han. The DJ on the radio announced that it was the hottest summer in 25 years and warned the city to take care and stay out of the sun.

 

“ _I_ _t’s hot! Stay inside, stay hydrated, keep your windows open!”_

\-----

  
On Thursday night, it was too hot to even go out to deal. All of Cassiopeia was inside the apartment building, boys hanging their heads out of the window hoping the city air was less stagnant than the heat inside. All the showers were packed tight with two or three boys as they tried to cool off by taking icy cold showers, their shouts echoing through the building as they fought to stand under the shower head.

 

Jongin was lying shirtless on his bed, eyes closed, trying to stay as still as possible. His skin buzzed with a heat so oppressive that he was sure that if he moved one inch, his whole body would explode.

 

“You’re still in here?”

 

Jongin opened his eyes at the sound of Taemin’s voice. He hadn’t heard him come into the room.

 

“It’s too hot to move, Minnie,” he said.

 

Taemin laughed and went over to sit on the side of the bed. Jongin tilted his head up to look at the other boy. He frowned at the sight of his cut off shorts and black tank top.

 

“How the fuck do you still have so many clothes on?”

 

Taemin slapped him on the shoulder. Jongin flinched, offended.

 

“Because I’m not holed up in a hot bedroom lying on top of hot sheets,” he countered.

 

Jongin scowled at him.

 

“Like I said, it’s too hot to move.”

 

Taemin rolled his eyes.

 

“Come up to the roof with me. It’s cooler there.”

 

“Taemin. It. Is. Too. Goddamn--”

 

“Hot to move, yes you’ve said that already. But it’ll be cooler up there and I have beer.” Taemin got up from the bed and held out his hand to Jongin.

 

“Come on.”

\----

 

Taemin had been right, the roof was cooler. The two boys were shirtless, sitting shoulder to shoulder, working their way through a joint and the 12 pack of Tsingtao that Taemin had brought up. The whole city seemed to be awake with the heat and Jongin and Taemin listened to the sounds of the streets churning beneath them.

 

“Jonginnie?” Jongin pressed his lips against Taemin’s temple and hummed in response.

 

“Let’s not live like this anymore?”

 

\----------

 Jongin looked up from his latte--long cold, mostly full--and stared out the window behind Jonghyun’s head. They had been tucked away in the back booth of the Starbucks for the better part of five hours and the sky was streaked with the blush tones of the setting sun. Rush hour was in full force and cars whizzed by, their headlights winking in the glare of the window pane.  

Jongin’s eyes fell on Jonghyun who was picking one of the matcha pound cakes he had bought for them to crumbly bits. The two men were silent for a while while the weight of Jongin’s story settled around them.

 

Jonghyun cleared his throat.

 

“So,” he said finally, not looking up from the remains of his cake.

 

“So.” Jongin tried his best to keep his voice steady. His throat stung from the hours of non-stop talking, the sharp words of his story having ripped gashes into his esophagus as he shared the long hidden story of his past. He had worked so hard to keep this part of his life locked away for the past four years and now here he was, sharing it with someone he barely knew. He took a sip of his cold latte to try to soothe the burn.

 

Jonghyun wiped his fingers on a napkin then leaned across the table, fixing Jongin with his steady gaze.

 

Jongin swallowed and stared him straight in the eye.

 

Jonghyun sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest and smirked.

 

“So it looks like you and I have more in common than I originally thought.” Jongin started to laugh.  “Who would have known. You, Mr. Fancy Big Shot Journalist, just as dirty as the rest of us.”

 

Jongin frowned.

 

“I’m not dirty.”

 

“Ah, nope, don’t try to deny it,” Jonghyun continued, seeing the look on Jongin’s face. “You’re as wrapped up in this world as I am. Hell, you’re deeper in than I ever was. Cassiopeia and Mugunghwa? Even before Junsu moved you all to Seoul, Cassiopeia was a big deal over here. You all fucking _commanded_ the dope market. You all had almost all of the big money importers for a good three years _at least_ . And that fucking Jaejoong--he was terrifying.” Jonghyun grimaced, his handsome face contorting. “I met him once. Ran into him at a party down in Gwangjin _years_ ago. Made the mistake of trying to sell him oxy. He was  _not_ having it.” He paused and pinched off a corner of Jongin’s untouched slice of cake and popped it in his mouth. “I guess you never figured out who killed him?”

 

Jongin shook his head slowly.

 

“No. I know Junsu-hyung was trying to figure it out but he never did. At least not as far as I could tell.”

 

Jonghyun nodded and chewed thoughtfully.

 

“Yeah. It’s weird. You wouldn’t think that someone could just kill a guy like Jaejoong and get away with it.” He shrugged. “I guess it goes that way sometimes. Whatever happened to Junsu? That’s a name I haven’t heard in years.”

 

“He’s dead now too,” Jongin responded. “He didn’t last much longer after Taemin and I left Cassiopeia. Most of the other boys came with us and helped us start Mugunghwa so we left Junsu-hyung alone. I doubt he even noticed that we were all gone. At that point he was so far down in his bottles of soju that I doubt he knew what day it was.” He took a deep breath. “We found out that he died about six months later. Apparently he finally shot himself in the head.”

 

“Damn.”

 

Jongin crossed his arms over his chest. He felt cold. “Yeah. Taemin figured that he had wanted to go the same way that Jaejoong-hyung had gone.”

 

“Shit.” Jonghyun interlocked his fingers and rested his chin on the bridge, leaning towards Jongin with interest. “That’s not a good way to go.”

 

“No. It’s not.”

 

Jonghyun leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms behind his head, an inquisitive look on his face.

 

“So if the timeline lines up right then you and Taemin probably started Mugunghwa right after you left Cassiopeia,” he said. “This is really interesting, I’ve never really spent much time thinking about the evolutions of gangs, you know? I’m usually more into how they fall apart.”

 

Jongin nodded and avoided the other man’s eyes choosing to study the watermarks on the wooden tabletop instead.

 

“Yeah.” His voice was small. Jongin swallowed multiple times, still trying to soothe the aching dryness in his throat. “Taemin knew some people in Seoul who were willing to give us a loan to get us started off. We moved out of the apartment that week and went to an old warehouse. Within a month around ten of the last Cassiopeia guys joined us.”

 

“And you were leading it?”

 

Jongin nodded again, slower this time.

 

“Me and Taemin. He was good at contacting people; getting other kkang-pae to collaborate with us. He had the charisma, he was brash.” Jongin looked up from the coffee cup imprint he’d been staring at and looked past Jonghyun and out the window again. “Taemin was smart. Is smart. And dangerous. He could manipulate people into doing whatever he wanted them to do. He was meant to lead a gang.”

 

“And you?” Jonghyun asked. “What did you do?”

 

“I was the planner.” Jongin watched as a V of geese soared past the window, their hollow caws just audible over the piano jazz playing in the Starbucks. “I kept the books in order. I followed up with the gang leaders with the logistics of a deal. I made sure that our territories were safe, that our borders stayed closed, that our agreements were water tight, that our members were loyal. I was behind the scenes mostly. But I held it all together. I kept it all from falling apart.”

 

As a gang leader, Taemin was ruthless and calculatedly cold hearted.  Unlike Jaejoong and Junsu, Taemin ruled Mugunghwa with a clenched fist, demanding order and obedience from all of their members and complete capitulation on all deals with their allies. He had never been afraid to use force, often threatening members, allies, and enemies alike with violence so elaborate that Jongin used to think that he had plucked the ideas out of the books on the feudal era that he kept stashed in their bedroom. Jongin was never there for it but he knew that Taemin was good on his word. There would be nights that Jongin would sit up alone in bed, one lamp burning, waiting for Taemin to return late in the night reeking of the gun oil, blood, and Seoul’s backstreets. Taemin would come in, strip out of his blood stained suit and wrap his arms firmly around him, humming softly into his neck.

 

_I had to do it, Jonginnie. I hate that I had to, but it had to happen. I have to protect us._

 

Jongin had never understood how the person who whispered love into his skin and ran soft fingers down his spine was the same person who was infamous in the underground for having beaten a Chinese meth runner so badly that the police report said that it looked like the man had been turned inside out.

 

“And then you left?” Jonghyun pressed. “That was what; three, four years ago?”

 

“Yeah,” Jongin said. “Four years ago. I was 19.”

 

“Why?”

 

Jongin froze.

 

“Not everything is your business, Jonghyun,” he said just loud enough for the other man to hear. “Sometimes, you just need to move on.”

 

Jonghyun rose one eyebrow in slow surprise.

 

“I guess you’re right, Jonginnie,” he responded, his voice measured. “Not everything is my business.”

 

They stared at one another for a moment. Jonghyun smiled.

 

“So what is he like, really?” Jonghyun asked, changing the subject.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Jonghyun rolled his eyes dramatically.

 

“What is Taemin like?” Jonghyun said, impatient. “Like really. I mean, I know what’s in his file, I know his general reputation on the underground from back when I was on the streets. And now I know what you’ve told me. And none of it really seems to add up. On the one hand he’s this ‘perfect, kind golden child’.” Jonghyun made air quotes with his fingers. “And on the other, he’s this cold, violent gang lord. Like, which one is he? Who is he really?”

 

Jongin took a deep breath and worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He didn’t know how to answer Jonghyun. This was question that he’d been turning over in his head his entire life. Who really _is_ Lee Taemin?

 

“Everyone. Anyone. No one.” He said finally, repeating the same words he'd heard so many years ago. “I don’t know. Taemin is whoever he needed to be at any given moment. At least he was back when I knew him. I mean--I want to say that I knew him better than everyone else.”

 

Jongin paused for a moment, trying to choose his words carefully.

 

“But...I don’t know. I guess he’s all of the things that you described. But, who knows? I feel like I knew him a lifetime ago. He’s probably different now. And I could have been wrong all those years ago.”

 

Jonghyun hummed in agreement.

 

“Yeah. Sometimes you think you know a person but it just turns out that you were picking the parts that you wanted to see.”

 

“Yeah. Maybe.”

 

Jongin shivered. He wrapped his arms around his middle and looked back down at the table top.

 

“You ok?” Jonghyun asked.

 

“Yeah...yeah.” Jongin closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. He felt exhausted. “I’m alright.” He opened his eyes. “Just cold.”

 

“Want another coffee? I’m buying.”

 

Jongin shook his head. “No. It’s ok.”

 

Jonghyun shrugged.

 

“Alright then. Your loss.”

 

Jonghyun’s phone beeped. He took it out of his pocket, frowning at the screen.

 

“Jinki wants to know how the lychee is selling,” he reported. “I guess we should probably get to that. It’s almost 6:30.” He stood up, brushing stray crumbs from his lap.

 

Jongin got up from the table, grabbing their used cups and plates. He was grateful for a reason to stop talking. They headed towards the door, Jongin dumping their dishes in the disposal bin on their way out.

 

It was completely dark now and the air was crisp with the early evening. Jongin shoved his hands deep into his pockets as they walked towards the car. He felt lightheaded.

 

“You know what, Jonginnie?” Jonghyun said as they got in the car. “Let me take care of the lychee. I’ll make sure it gets sold. You head on home.”

 

Jongin looked at him, surprised.

 

“What? Why?”

 

“Because you look like you’re about to pass out,” he said, starting the engine. “And you’re going to be of no use to me if you pass out on the street corner.” Jonghyun laughed. “For someone who used to lead the biggest kkang-pae in Seoul, you’re really soft.”

 

“I’m not that person anymore.”

 

Jonghyun took his eyes off the road for a minute to look Jongin head on, his eyes gentle.

 

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Leaving can change you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated! This mostly covers Jongin's back story so now I can (finally) get on with the rest of the story.
> 
>  
> 
> also please give me your fave TaeKai recs! I need stuff to read D: Thanks to those of you who have so far!
> 
> Also how good is Shinee's new album? I'm obsessed.


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Gore, violence, the usual

Jongin woke up slowly, the banging of the construction across the street leaking through his bedroom window and slipping under the pillow shoved over his head. Groggily, he disentangled himself from his sheets and sat up, blinking at the sunlight that was shooting bright streaks across his room. He yawned and shook his head, trying to clear the fogginess of sleep from his brain.  He groped around on his nightstand until he closed his hand over his cell phone. _12:45 pm_. He’d slept fitfully and stayed in bed late; later than he had in weeks and he ached from being curled up for so long. He reached his arms over his head and stretched, sighing with the sharp pop of his vertebrae as they realigned. His body felt heavy. He had barely made it to his bed after Jonghyun had dropped him home last night and had had to fight off the urge to collapse on his sofa in the living room right when he walked through the door. Sleep had been immediate, the pace of the past few days hitting him hard. He hadn’t dreamed and for that Jongin was grateful. He didn’t think he could trust himself after all the history he had dragged up yesterday. He didn’t want to watch a rerun in his mind.

 

There were nine new texts on his phone--two from Jonghyun: one saying that all the lychee had been sold and the other letting him know they were supposed to meet with Amber later that night in Itaewon; four from Daehwa screaming for an update on the investigation; two from Jinki saying that Jonghyun had relayed that he wasn’t feeling well and checking in on how he was doing and one from a number Jongin didn’t recognize.

 

_Jonginnie._

 

_It was good to see you the other day. I know you’re meeting with Amber later. Do you have time see me before then?_

 

Jongin’s breathing slowed as he read the text again and then one more time.

 

 _You know who that is_ , whispered a nagging voice at the back of his brain. _And you know you want to answer it._

 

 _Who is this?_ He typed back, his palm sweaty around his IPhone.  He waited three minutes and then four and there was no response.

 

 _There’s no use sitting here waiting_ , the voice said again. Shakily putting his phone back down on the nightstand, he got out of bed and made his way towards the bathroom. Jongin switched on the light and turned on the shower, waiting for the thick stream of water to run hot. He slipped out of his t-shirt and sweatpants and stood naked in front of the mirror, listening to the sound of the water hitting the cold tiles.

 

He looked worn, even he could tell. His face looked wan, his usual soft brown coloring having gone waxy. The bags under his eyes, usually a faint but constant reminder of his long work hours, had become weary black-blue bruises ringing his exhausted eyes. He turned away from the mirror, bracing the small of his back on the cold ceramic sink. He stared at dark blue plush of his bathmat and ran the fingers of his left hand over his shoulder blade, seeking out the thin raised lines where his tattoo hadn’t healed properly. If he swiveled his head around, he’d be able to see the green branches curling up his back, their roots reaching down towards his tailbone. He’d be able to clearly make out six out of the seven elaborately inked mugunghwa flowers, brilliant in their white and pink, exploding across his sides and shoulders.

 

Jongin sighed and ran his fingers through his dark hair. He’d had lots of difficult assignments as a journalist--he’d almost been caught when he was investigating the chaebols; he’d had to work crazy hours hanging out with fisherman on docks down in Mokpo when he did a story on Malaysian immigrants coming over illegally on fishing boats. But none of his jobs had been as draining as this one.

 

He turned back around and scowled at himself in the mirror. And still, none of those jobs were even close to how hard working with Mugunghwa had been. There had been times when he and Taemin would stay up for days on end, holed up in their tiny office, reports and diagrams spread out in front of them as they tried to plan their next ambush. And the other times, when Jongin would follow Taemin to his tense meetings with other high profile foreign gang members and the two of them would spend many tense hours negotiating deals, guards at the door, guns glinting on the table. He’d had it worse. Much, much worse.

 

The mirror started to fog up and Jongin turned away and got in the shower, the water searing hot on his skin. He ducked his head under the stream, letting the water beat down on his scalp.  He resisted the urge to turn down the temperature--the burn felt good. It made him focus on something other than himself.

 

\---

Jongin emerged from the bathroom half an hour later, a towel wrapped around his waist, tiny bursts of water dripping from his hair. He shuffled around his room, going through the motions of getting dressed. His phone vibrated from its place on the nightstand just as he was pulling on his socks.

 

_It’s Taemin._

 

Jongin froze, still standing in the middle of the room, one sock halfway on his foot. His fingers trembling  as he typed out a response.

 

_How did you get my number?_

 

He watched as a gray bubble floated up on the screen, the three telltale pending response dots blinking at him.  There was a pause, and then a new message appeared.

 

_It was easy. I got Key to find it for me._

 

Of course he did.

 

Another message--

 

_So can you meet with me?_

 

Jongin paused and stared at the text.  He knew that this was probably a bad idea. He knew that he shouldn’t go meet Taemin, alone, without letting Jonghyun or Jinki know where he was going. He hadn’t even worked out a game plan with the other men. It was risky.

 

_Yes._

 

Jongin hadn’t become a journalist because he was afraid of risk.

 

_I’m free at 2:30. Meet me at our spot by the Han._

 

Jongin swallowed hard.

 

_I’ll see you there._

 

\------

Their spot was the roof of a ten story parking building, two blocks away from the bank of the Han. They had stumbled upon it very early one Saturday soon after Cassiopeia had moved to Seoul after a long night of selling marijuana to college kids. Jongin had been the one who had pointed it out. He had been fascinated by the old building in what he said would have been the perfect location for a park or fancy high rise apartments. Taemin had rolled his eyes and teased him for worrying about prime real estate but he agreed to follow the other boy up to vacant roof. The two boys had stayed there all morning, sitting in a parking spot, watching the yellow  sun rise over the inky black of the coursing river. They could see what felt like the entire city from that rooftop--the slowly dimming lights in the apartments on the other side of the river, the blinking cars scuttling back and forth as people started their days, the tiny dots of the ahjummas going on their morning walks along the river. They cherished that rooftop. And they kept going back to watch the city wake up around them.

 

Jongin made it to the rooftop five minutes early. It was full, nearly every parking spot was crowded with parked cars, their glossy paint glinting in the early spring sunlight. There was a chill in the air and he shivered as a cool breeze came in off the Han. He stuck his hands in the front pocket of his worn hoodie and went over to the barrier wall to wait for Taemin. He rested his elbows on edge of the rough concrete and leaned over, letting the wind press against his face. He looked over towards the river, watching the water run and twist along the bank. It was a beautiful day. The sun sparkled on the water, sending quick bursts of light up towards the clear, aquamarine sky. Far off in the distance, he could make out a few cherry trees just beginning to blossom, their dark branches peppered with soft bursts of white. Jongin took a deep breath. He was nervous. He hadn’t been back to the roof since he had left Mugunghwa. He didn’t think he could ever come back, at least not alone. It wasn’t his space. It belonged to him and Taemin. He couldn’t stake a claim on something that wasn’t fully his.

 

He smelled the cigarette smoke before he saw him.

 

“Hey.”

 

Jongin looked to his left to see Taemin standing next to him, back against the wall, a cigarette clenched between two of his impossibly long thin fingers. Jongin followed his hand as Taemin brought the cigarette up to his full lips, the silver ring on his index finger winking at him in the sunlight, and took a drag, his eyes sliding shut, his cheeks hollowing as he inhaled. Taemin exhaled slowly, a tight stream of smoke escaping through his perfect mouth. His eyes slid sideways, looking at Jongin through his blonde fringe without turning to face him.

 

“Hi.” Jongin was surprised at how steady he was able to keep his voice.

 

Taemin pushed off the wall and turned to look off the side of the building, his body a few inches from Jongin’s own, so close that Jongin could feel the warmth radiating off of his body.

 

“Isn’t it a bit risky for you to be out here like this?” Jongin asked. He avoided eye contact with Taemin, choosing instead to focus on the three silver hoops adorning his left ear. He didn’t want him to see the uncertainty in his eyes.

 

Taemin smirked. “Like what?”

 

“You’re out in the open in the middle of the day, in the middle of a gang war and the Seoul PD is looking for you.”

 

Taemin took another drag off his cigarette, tapping the ash off the side of the building.

 

“You know about all that? Figures. You always did your homework,” he said, looking unsurprised. He reached into the pocket of his jean jacket and pulled out his pack of cigarettes, offering one to Jongin. Jongin shook his head.

 

“You stopped smoking?”

 

“It’s bad for you.”

 

Taemin rose an eyebrow in surprise.

 

“Never stopped you before.”

 

“I wasn’t worried about my lungs before.”

 

Taemin laughed, a clear bell peal sound.

 

“Fair enough.”

 

They fell silent and Taemin stared ahead and watched the river, focused on finishing his cigarette. Everything about Taemin was familiar, Jongin decided as he watched the other man’s profile. Same soft curve of his jaw, same stern soft eyes constantly roving over everything around him, same serious crease between his eyebrows. Even the way he breathed, slow and deliberate, sent waves of nostalgia crashing over Jongin.

 

“It’s been a really long time, Jongin,” Taemin finally whispered, flicking his cigarette butt over the edge of the roof. “I didn’t expect to hear from you again.”

 

Jongin bit his lip and nodded. Taemin didn’t sound angry or upset. He just said it like he was stating a fact.

 

“I didn’t expect to want to see you again,” he said softly.

 

Taemin nodded, still looking across the rooftops towards the river.

 

“But here we are,” he murmured.  “Standing in our parking lot, talking to one another like we’re 19 years old. We always had a weird thing for rooftops.” He paused and a gentle, faraway look fell over his eyes. “Remember when we got our tattoos together?” Taemin smiled. “Remember how much you squirmed?”

 

Jongin nodded, surprised at Taemin’s vocalized memories.

 

“It hurt,” he said, defiantly. “You squirmed too. Jungkook made me hold your legs down so he could finish.”

 

Taemin laughed, touching his hand to the base of his own spine as if remembering the pain. “I hadn’t expected it to hurt so much!” He was quiet for a moment as the smile faded from his face. He cleared his throat.

 

“So what have you been up to all this time?”

 

Jongin gripped the ledge tightly, feeling tiny concrete granules break off in his palm.

 

“Working. I’ve been writing for the _Times_ . I cover neighborhood events,” he said, reciting one of his many covers. It wasn’t completely untrue. He had covered local events for the _Times_ early on in his writing career and he still wrote the occasional article under his real name for the “Weekly Updates” section, just so he could use this cover in case the need arose.

 

“So you’re writing?” Jongin could hear the lack of surprise in Taemin’s voice. “Of course you are. You were always crazy about reading and stuff. It makes sense. You and your words.”

 

Taemin furrowed his brow and sighed.

 

“To be completely honest, I’m not going to ask you where you’ve been all this time,” he continued. “I’m not interested in that. You could have left and gone to Atlanta for all I care. What I really want to know is why you’re back here, now.” Taemin turned again, facing Jongin head on, causing the other man to inhale sharply.

 

“I-I didn’t know what else to do. I left because I needed to,” Jongin’s voice was light and soft.  “But I’m back. Because I need to be.” The words were flowing from Jongin, easy as the sunlight. Something about flow of Taemin’s voice had unleashed a flood of emotions. Jongin was being honest now--this was more than just being a journalist. “Sometimes you can run as far and as long as you can but some things just keep a hold on you. I needed to come back.” He paused. “This life keeps pulling me back. It’s a part of me. I need it. Even more than I needed to leave.”

The two men were silent for a moment staring at each other, the sound of their breaths eerily audible over the rush of the wind.

 

“You do realize how fucking lucky you are, right?” Taemin finally said, his voice taking on a harsh, menacing chill. “If anyone had just up and left Mugunghwa like you did, I would have had them tracked down and murdered in their sleep. Hell, if fucking _Key_ had left, I would have gone out,  found him, and personally beaten him to death.” Taemin gripped the edge of the wall, hard, then took a deep breath. “But you’re you. You’re Kim Jongin. You’re not anyone else.” he said, his voice barely audible, “So I let you go. I figured you were tired. I knew I had pushed you too far.” Taemin brought one hand up to Jongin’s stunned face, softly tracing the slope of his cheek. “I let you go,” he said again, gentler. “hoping that I’d never have to see you again.” He let his fingers slip off of Jongin’s face, tumbling back down to hang at his side. “I was sure you felt the same way. I was sure you were done with me. So you need to understand how fucking unsettling this is for me. Seeing you the other night--it was like seeing a ghost.”

 

Jongin slid his eyes shut, each breath burning in his lungs.

 

“You need to understand,” Taemin continued, “that I don’t know if I can trust you. People don’t just disappear and then pop back up four years later without a good reason. Mugunghwa is in a rough spot right now--I hate to have to say it, but we’re fragile. I don’t know if you’re working for someone else and want to break us apart” Jongin felt his heartbeat speed up, “or if you genuinely want to be back.

 

“So I’m going to give you a test. I know Amber gave you and the other guy--Jonghyun?--a bunch of lychee to sell. And I know you sold it. But that’s not enough for me.”

 

“Then what is enough?”

 

“I have to swing by an apartment in about an hour. It’s down in Itaewon. A foreigner was living there--an American. He was a contractor with the US army.” Taemin took his phone out of his jacket pocket, glanced at the screen, then frowned. “He was one of our customers--a regular lychee user--and he helped to keep the military off our ass.”

 

“And?”

 

“Well. He’s dead now. I got a call from Jimin--one of my guys who works over there--and he said that he found him when he stopped by to deliver his lychee this morning, lying in his kitchen with his head cut off. I need to get over there before the cops start swarming the place.”

 

Jongin exhaled hard and ran a nervous hand through his windswept hair.

 

“Why do you want me to come with you to see this? The guy’s already dead, isn’t he?”

 

“Because I need to know if you can still handle the realities of Mugunghwa.” Taemin didn’t look up and kept scrolling through his phone. “And I need to know if you can be of any use to me. You used to be good at figuring out the answers to complicated problems.” Taemin finally put his phone back in his pocket and looked Jongin straight in the eyes. “This is a complicated problem.”

 

Jongin held the other man’s gaze, frowned then nodded. The rooftop air grew tight under Taemin’s concentrated stare--a rough tension rising up as Taemin waited for him to speak again.

 

“Ok,” he said finally. “Let’s go.”

 

\---

They took the metro.

 

Jongin sat pressed in between a pack of high school girls, the high pitched squeal of their giggles nearly drowning out the metallic click and whoosh of the train moving through the tunnel. Taemin stood up across from him, leaning against the cool aluminum wall of the train car, head tipped back showing off the long curve of his neck, eyes closed, brow furrowed, arms crossed over his chest. The look on Taemin’s face was familiar to Jongin. It was the same look he’d had even back when they were small boys. It appeared whenever he was working through something, whenever he was trying to unravel an intricate web. Taemin had always had an uncanny knack for reading people, a characteristic that had always unsettled Jongin. Taemin’s mind was always running and swerving, taking in everything around him, always three steps ahead of everyone and everything around him. Despite what Taemin had said earlier, Jongin knew that he he had never really been able to keep up with him.

 

Taemin cracked one eye open and caught Jongin staring at him. He raised his eyebrows at the younger man, smirking at him. _Yeah, what?_ he seemed to say. Jongin felt the blood rush to his face and dropped his eyes down to the floor of the train car.

 

He wondered what Taemin was piecing together now.

 

The train slid to a stop and the automated voice over head announced that they had arrived at the Itaewon stop. The doors slid open with a ding and Taemin pushed off the wall, whisking past Jongin without a second glance. He sprung up from his seat, jostling one the girls sitting next to him, who dropped her phone with a squeak and swore at him.

 

“Yah, watch where you’re going asshole!”

 

Jongin didn’t bother to apologize and rushed out after Taemin just before the doors shut behind him.

 

Taemin was halfway up the stairs leading to the sidewalk by the time Jongin caught up with him.

 

Jongin didn’t shout out his name or reach out to stall him. Instead he followed Taemin, moving two people behind him up out of the metro station and onto the busy streets of Itaewon, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows through the narrow gaps between the buildings. Taemin moved quickly, weaving through the crowd, and Jongin staying at a steady distance behind him.

 

The two men walked straight for about five blocks before Taemin abruptly turned the corner and started down a dim, mostly deserted alleyway.

 

Jongin sidestepped a moldy looking puddle and finally caught up with Taemin, keeping pace. Taemin glanced at him out of the side of his eyes but didn’t say anything.

 

Jongin broke the silence. “Are we nearly there?”

 

Taemin nodded and pointed at the tall, blocky building in front of them. “We’re here.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black face mask, looping it behind his ears.

 

“What?” he said, noticing the look on Jongin’s face. “I can’t have any security cameras picking up my face while we’re here. I’m a wanted man, Jonginnie.” Jongin could hear the grin in his voice.

 

They went in through the dingy main lobby. Jongin nodded at the old man sitting at the reception desk and they made their way over to the elevator. The doors opened and Taemin punched the button for the 6th floor.

 

“You nervous?” Taemin was standing close to Jongin, their shoulders brushing in the cramped closeness. Jongin caught his breath at the contact.

 

Jongin exhaled and rolled his eyes. “Please. I’ve seen plenty of dead bodies.”

 

Taemin laughed, the sound muffled behind his face mask. “I’ll give you that.”

 

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Taemin put his hand on Jongin’s arm, letting his fingers press gently into his bicep then stepped out. Jongin touched his arm gently, letting his fingers fill the place that Taemin’s had just left and stepped out, his heart thudding in his ears.

 

There was a man leaning against the wall staring down at the phone in his hand, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head. He looked up at the sound of Jongin and Taemin approaching and stood up straight, pocketing his phone.

 

“Hyung!” he exclaimed, sounding surprised. “I didn’t expect you to get here so quickly.” Closer up, Jongin was able to get a better look at him. He was short, maybe around the same height as Jonghyun, and had a young face with round cheeks and full lips that reminded him of Taemin’s. His black hair fell into his eyes--open wide, focused solely on Taemin-- and gleaming with a light that was simultaneously unnamable and familiar.

 

Taemin rolled his eyes at the boy in front of them and yanked the hood off his head.

 

“Jimin, how many times do I have to tell you to not hang out in the goddamn hallway in the middle of a job? There’s nothing more suspicious than some random guy in a hood standing around. What if someone sees you?”

 

Jimin shrugged and ran his fingers through his ruffled hair. “It was creepy being all alone in the apartment. And everything smells like blood! It was making me sick.” He looked at Jongin and squinted at him as if seeing him for the first time.

 

“Who the hell are you?”

 

“I’m Kim Jongin. Jongin,” Jongin responded, stumbling over his name in reaction to Jimin’s bluntness.

 

“He’s your hyung, Jimin. Stop being a dick.” Taemin reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pair of latex gloves, snapping them onto his hands. “Jongin is going to be helping me out a bit from now on. He’s here to help me take a look at Alex.” He nodded at the shut door in front of them. “It’s this one right?”

 

Jimin gave Jongin one last cold look then nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s unlocked.”

 

The apartment opened straight into the kitchen. Jongin took a quick inventory of the room. The space was messy--dirty dishes still plastered with the remnants of old meals were piled high in the sink and the faucet leaked--plinking steady drops onto the plates below. The window over the sink had been left open and the sunlight reflected in the thick layer of grease caked onto the countertops.

 

But it was the blood that hit Jongin the hardest.

 

The tiled floor was flooded with it, the color of the blood going from a rich dark black-red where the liquid was thickest to a rusty, sandy brown where it had started to flake and dry.

 

And the smell.

 

Jimin hadn’t been lying--the metallic mucusy scent of the drying blood went straight to Jongin’s head drawing up a thousand, stilted memories of dead bodies lying twisted in back alleyways; of fractured shrieks of terror and the dull boom of gunshots; of Jaejoong lying mangled and bloodied on stained sheets; of Jongin gripping at a slick knife, the blade and his hands stained crimson, a dull, helpless gurgling echoing in front of him--

 

“Jimin, shut the door.” Taemin’s voice came barrelling through Jongin’s memories, dragging him back to the scene in front of him. Jongin breathed in deeply, trying to clear his mind, gagging instead on the sharp taste of iron in the back of his throat.

 

There was a click as the door shut and Jimin went to stand by Taemin who was crouching down by examining the shredded remains of a body in front him.

 

“It’s pretty bad, right hyung?”

 

Taemin nodded, frowning.

 

“Hey, Jongin,” he said, “Come here.”

 

Reluctantly, Jongin walked over, crouching down next to Taemin.

 

It _was_ bad--one of the worst that Jongin had ever seen. Alex had been stabbed repeatedly, his torso completely shredded. And his head was detached, placed on his lap, his dead blue eyes wide open and the mouth ajar in a twisted grimace. Jongin covered his mouth with his hand, trying to stave off the rising waves of nausea.

 

Taemin glanced at him, noticing his discomfort and put a gloved hand on his knee, rubbing his thumb back and forth on the rise of his kneecap. Jongin stalled at the touch and slowly brought his hand down from his mouth to hang at his side.

 

“Jiminnie, did you check for Alex’s phone?” Taemin said, not looking up from the carnage in front of them.

 

Jimin looked down at Taemin’s hand on Jongin’s knee and frowned briefly before answering. “Yeah. I took a look at it once I got in. There aren’t any new calls or texts--nothing out of the ordinary.”

 

Taemin hummed thoughtfully then stood up, slowly pacing around the room.

 

“Bathroom? Any blood in the sink? Gloves or plastic in the trash?”

 

“No. All clean. Smells like bleach though. I’d bet the killer cleaned up after himself.”

 

“And his bedroom? Nothing?”

 

Jimin nodded. “Nothing. There’s nothing here. Whoever did this didn’t leave anything behind.”

 

“Of course,” Taemin said, his voice low. “They never do.” He sighed. “These bastards really know what they’re doing.”

 

“Looks like they’re trying to send a message.” The words came out of Jongin’s mouth before he was really aware of what he was saying.

 

“A message?” Jimin got up from where he was still crouching and went over to the window. “Well duh. That’s why they keep killing people we’re associated with.”

 

“Well there’s that,” Jongin continued, annoyed. He didn’t know what was with this Jimin guy, but he was really starting to piss him off. “But also in the way they killed this guy.” He took another look at the mutilated body. He’d seen too many murders to not be able to notice some sort of pattern. “Just look at the way he’s positioned--with his body propped up against the wall like that? And with his head in his lap and with the eyes open? Someone is taunting you. They’re letting you know that they’re watching you.” He took a breath. “No one is murdered that brutally unless it’s a crime of passion.”

 

Jimin laughed. “There’s no one out here who gives enough of a fuck about Alex to have killed him in a ‘crime of passion’ or whatever.”

 

“Shut up Jimin,” Taemin said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Let Jongin finish.”

 

Jongin got up from the floor and went to stand by the stove. “I don’t mean a crime of passion towards Alex,” he continued, his voice steady. “It’s a crime of passion towards you. Could be towards Taemin, could be towards Mugunghwa on a whole. But whoever did this, they want you guys gone. And by the looks of it,” Jongin nodded towards the dead body, “They don’t give a fuck about who’s in the way.”

 

Taemin pulled down his face mask and grinned at Jongin, his entire face lighting up.

 

“See?” he said, “I knew you still had it in you.”

 

\----

Jongin sat at the back of the metro car, his hands shoved deep in his jean pockets, staring down at his worn shoelaces. His head ached and the acidic tang of blood still lingered in his nostrils.

He’d left the apartment alone, parting ways with Taemin and Jimin in the lobby and his body was still thrumming with the anxiety and excitement of the afternoon.

 

A young mother and her small son sat down in the seat across from him, the little boy’s excited chatter filling the space around him. Jongin slid further down in his seat, as if were trying to sink into the linoleum floor.

 

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he drew it out. It was Taemin.

 

 

  * _I’ll see you later?_



 

 

 

  * _I’m on my way to meet with Amber now. I’m running late._



  * _;) Have fun!_



 

 

Jongin stared at the string of texts on his screen. He didn’t know what to do or how to feel about any of it. Something about Taemin unsettled Jongin. Something about the way Taemin had spoken to him--both kind and cold--made him uneasy. It was too reminiscent of the way Taemin had taunted their rivals back when he was in Mugunghwa. It felt like a trap, like Taemin was trying to cast a net and lure him straight into the center. But even still, the easy smiles that Taemin had tossed his way, the soft look of pride in his eyes when Jongin spoke, the soft touches--those felt genuine. They felt familiar.

 

Jongin bit his lip and sighed in frustration.

 

Nothing about today had made any sense--he had no idea what Taemin had really wanted from him in Alex’s apartment, he had no idea if he had even put on a convincing performance. _Was he even performing though?_ He thought back to the bloody apartment floor. It had been so easy, maybe too easy for him to slip back into the clinically calculating person he had been. He had wanted to give Taemin answers. He had wanted to help. And as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he had wanted to please Taemin: he had wanted to draw his attention away from Jimin and make him look at him. Only him. Jonghyun’s words from last night echoed in his head. _Leaving can change you._ Maybe he hadn’t changed at all. Maybe he was no different than he had been before.

 

Or maybe Taemin just knew how to bring out his darkest sides.

 

Jongin closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, trying to temper the sea of thoughts crashing through his head. Slowly, slowly he opened them again, his gaze landing on the mother across from him, the little boy sitting on her lap playing with the fringe on her scarf. The young woman whispered something in his ear and the boy giggled, beaming up at his mother.  The woman caught Jongin looking and she smiled at him, her pretty face folding upwards and her eyes twinkling. Jongin smiled back, shyly, and gave a small wave at the toddler who laughed and enthusiastically waved back.

 

 _Is this what it’s like?_ He wondered, looking at the pair. _Is this what it’s like to be normal? To not have a thousand secrets and a hundred memories that you’re always trying to repress? Is this what it’s like to trust someone else? Is this what it’s like when you’re not completely worn out from running from your past self? To not be full of some sort of twisted darkness? Is this what it’s like to be happy? Really, truly?_

\-----

 

“You’re late.” Amber took a sip of her soju then gestured for Jongin and Jonghyun to sit across from her. They were at a dingy ramen restaurant in downtown Seoul. The place was packed with rough looking men--most dressed in t-shirts and worn jeans, their ears glinting with a thousand piercings, their arms covered in the intricate hand poked tattoos of the yakuza. The air was hot and sticky from the steam from the kitchen and Jongin rolled up his sweater sleeves in a vain attempt to cool down. The two men squished themselves into the tiny booth and Amber pushed the bottle of soju and two empty glasses over to them.

 

“Help yourselves,” she said.

 

“We’re not late,” Jonghyun said pointedly, pouring a glass for Jongin and then for himself. “You told us to meet you at 6:30. It’s 6:20. We still have ten minutes.”

 

Amber scowled at him. “If I tell you to show up at 6:30, then I expect you to be here twenty minutes early. My game, my rules.”

 

“Games only work if all the players know the rules.” Jongin murmured, sipping at his soju. “Otherwise it’s just cheating.”

 

Amber raised one eyebrow at him and laughed. “You’re a smart-ass, you know that, right? I can see why Taemin likes you so much.” She waved her hand in the air and beckoned one of the roaming waiters over. “You two want anything?”

 

Jonghyun nodded. “I want gyoza.”

 

“Jongin?” Amber said.

 

“No, I’m fine.”

 

The waiter bowed and shuffled off to the kitchen.

“So why are we here, Amber?” Jonghyun asked, sitting back in the booth. “You can’t have called us here just to eat dinner and drink soju. I didn’t think you liked us all that much.”

 

Amber smirked and nodded. “You’re right. I _don’t_ like either of you that much. Hell, I don’t really even like you at all. I still have no idea why Taemin is being this lenient with you, but don’t make the rules so whatever.”

 

The dumplings arrived and Jonghyun plucked one up with his chopsticks, popping it in his mouth.

 

“So why are we here, then?” Jongin said. _This is just a meeting_ , he thought to himself. _This is just like when you were back in Mugunghwa. You know how to do this._ “We did what you asked us to do. We sold the lychee. What now?”

 

“The ‘what now’ is that you were good on your word.,” Amber downed the last of her soju and poured herself another glass. “So now I have to be good on mine. We’re letting you in, but only on our own terms.”

 

“As to be expected,” Jonghyun said, his mouth full. He swallowed. “So what are your terms?”

 

“Jonghyun--you’re working the streets. I did some research on you and it looks like you know your way around the drug hotspots. You’re going to be dealing and only dealing. You make good profit this month and we’ll see about maybe moving you up.”

 

“Wait, what the fuck?” Jongin placed both palms flat on the table. “You’re splitting us?”

 

Amber laughed. “You catch on quick. Yeah, we’re splitting you. Taemin’s orders. Looks like he wants you near him. He had his mind made up from the minute you and Jonghyun left the club the other night. Said that he needs to ‘keep an eye on you’. So you’ll be doing whatever the hell he tells you to do.”

 

Jonghyun nodded and finished his soju. “Orders are orders. We free to go now?”

 

Amber pointed at the empty gyoza plate and the drained soju bottle.

 

“Pay the bill and you’re free to go. We’ll be in touch.”

 

\---

“It’s too damn cold to be waiting out here like this.” Jonghyun bounced from his left to right foot, rubbing his arms in an attempt to warm up. “That’s the problem with the fucking springtime--it’s nice during the day but the _second_ the sun goes down it’s like it’s January all over again.”

 

They had walked seven blocks down from the restaurant to a mostly vacant parking lot to wait for Jinki who was supposed to pick them up.

 

Jongin rubbed his hands together. It was cold.The tips of his ears were tingling in the wind and his lips were starting to chap.

 

“How much longer until Jinki gets here?” he asked.

 

Jonghyun shrugged. “No idea. He’s probably taking his time to avoid extra attention.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

Jonghyun grabbed his chin and pulled his face close to his own, examining him.

 

“Hey!” Jongin slapped his hand away. “What gives?”

 

“What did you do today?” Jonghyun said. “You look like hell.”

 

Jongin stared at Jonghyun for a beat, meeting his wide eyes. “...I met with Taemin,” he mumbled finally. “He texted me this morning wanting to see me. I didn’t tell you but I figured I’d better go.”

 

Jonghyun whistled low. “Secret meetings with your former partner? Nice. No, I don’t blame you for going. You made the right call.”

 

A black Toyota with tinted windows pulled up alongside the curb and flashed its hazards; once, twice. Jonghyun knocked on the passenger side window and it rolled down, revealing a tired looking Jinki. Jonghyun opened the back door and slid in, Jongin following after him.

 

“Hey Jinki,” he said, bitterly. “Way to make us wait for you, in the fucking cold.”

 

“I couldn’t just stay here with the engine idling. It would have attracted too much attention.” Jinki pulled off from the curb and drove off in the direction of the main road. “How’d it go?”

 

“Pretty well,” Jonghyun responded. “They’re splitting us up. I’m gonna be working the streets. Jongin over here though-- he’ll be working right alongside Taemin. Looks like he took a liking to him the other night.”

 

“Really?” Jinki turned down a side street, then made an awkward three-point turn in what could only be an attempt to shake off anyone who’d be following them. “That’s unexpected. But who knows what Taemin wants anyways.” He sighed. Jongin caught his eyes in the rearview mirror. Jinki looked even more worn out than he felt.

 

“There was another murder in Itaewon today,” Jinki continued. “Someone involved with the US army--a foreigner. He was possibly connected to Mugunghwa, though we’re still working out how. I’m just coming from there. It was bad--really nasty. The type of shit that’ll give you nightmares.”

 

“I know,” Jongin said. “I saw it.”

 

“What?” Jinki stepped on the breaks a little too hard, jostling the two men in the back. “How?”

 

“I met with Taemin today.” Jongin saw the surprise in Jinki’s eyes. “Taemin had wanted to see me and he took me there. It was some sort of a test. I think he was trying to get a read on me.” He relayed his meeting with Taemin, leaving out all of the incriminating information.

  
“What the fuck?” Jinki started driving again, keeping with the flow of the traffic. “I don’t understand. Why you?”

 

“Maybe he sees something in Jongin,” Jonghyun offered. “Or maybe he sees him as the weakest link. Maybe he wants to see if he can break him.”

 

Jongin swallowed, grateful to Jonghyun for not ratting him out.

 

“I think he just wanted to see how I would respond.” Jongin paused for a moment then said, “I think he just wanted to figure out who I am. What type of person I am.”

 

“Well I guess it worked,” Jinki said, nodding. “Now you’re working right under him. We couldn’t have asked for a better outcome.”

  
Jonghyun grinned and shot Jongin a knowing look. “How lucky.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back. Happy New Year everyone! Super long chapter (and kind of boring so I apologize). This is painfully unbeta'd so please excuse all the typos. I'll go back and clean this up later--I just wanted to get something out for you all. Let me know what you think in the comments! I know I don't always respond but I always really appreciate knowing that you all are reading this and that you're enjoying it!


	8. Chapter 7

“Well look who finally decided to show his face.” Daehwa was sitting behind his desk, his large figure spilling out of his chair. Jongin took his place on the other side of the desk and crossed his legs at the ankle.

 

“It hasn’t even been that long, Daehwa,” Jongin said, annoyed. He’d received three angry texts from his boss last night and one very loud phone call at 7:23 that morning demanding that he come in for a follow up meeting. “It’s been like two weeks. I’m _working_. This is how it always is.”

 

Daehwa huffed and pushed back from his desk, the wheels on his office chair squealing in protest. “Yes, this may be ‘how it always is’ but this is the first time that I’ve ever sent you undercover in what’s effectively Korea’s mafia. You haven’t called once and it takes you hours to respond to my texts. This isn’t like you, Kim. It’s like you’re dead.”

 

Jongin rolled his eyes at him and pushed his sleeves up to his elbow. The heat in the office was starting to get to him. “I’ve sent you email updates everyday _and_ you have full access to the folder where I upload my notes every night. I’m hardly dead.”

 

“But you _are_ dead silent,” Daehwa countered, “I expected more communication on your end.” Daehwa pushed himself closer to the desk and looked Jongin in the eyes--an uncharacteristic softness playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’m just worried Jongin, that’s all. I know you’re working and I don’t doubt that you’re doing a hell of a job. You’re the best I have--hell, you’re probably the best I’ve ever had and I will ever get again. I just want to make sure that you’re ok. I’m not used to you going quiet on me like this.”

 

Jongin paused, taken aback at Daehwa’s concern. He _had_ been quieter than usual, he knew that much. The past two weeks had been a whirlwind--constantly trying to keep in contact with Jonghyun and Jinki, trying to report back to the Seoul PD on any and all of his findings, trying to keep his cover with Mugunghwa, all while still trying to do his _actual_ job and work on his article for the _Times_. Taemin had kept him busy--shuttling around the city to attend mind-numbingly boring organizational meetings with his subordinates; spending hours counting and recounting the daily profits; planning and projecting the revenue for the next month. All the routine work that goes along with running a gang--things that Jongin had dealt with daily when he was still an integral party of Mugunghwa. That was easy. He was used to that part. It was the violence that shook him up. It wasn’t egregious--there hadn’t been anymore murders since Alex. Instead, it was the banality of it, how routine nature of the rage. Guns were everywhere, tucked silently into waistbands, hiding in jacket pockets, stashed in drawers--reminders of blood waiting to be spilled and of screams waiting to be cut short. The fights were constant--the younger members pushing, punching, and shoving at one another and harassing innocent people on the streets; shaking them down for tiny amounts of cash and, apparently, just for the hell of it. Mugunghwa was different; more volatile, more disorderly than Jongin had remembered. It was much different from the orderly, disciplined conglomerate of Jongin’s past. Now, Mugunghwa was falling to pieces--tiny explosions in every corner. And to Jongin, it felt like some of that frantic, dangerous energy was starting to edge its way into his own body. He could feel a latent frenetic electricity pulse quietly under the surface of his skin--old urges that had barely surfaced since he’d left Mugunghwa but here they were now. It would be so easy--too easy-- to just slip back into it, to give in and slide into the chaos surrounding him. It would be so simple. And Jongin spent everyday fighting to tamp down that urge.

 

He sighed, emptying his lungs in a loud rush. “I’m sorry,” he said, formally this time. “I didn’t mean to worry you. It’s been a hard job. It’s easy to get sucked in. I’ll do better next time around.”

 

Daehwa reached across the desk and clapped him on the shoulder with one of his huge, sweaty hands.

 

“Just stay with me Kim. I need you on my team.”

 

******

Jongin could just make out the hooded silhouette of his head in the watery glow of the streetlights. He checked the location pin that he’d been texted an hour earlier for confirmation. Yep. This was the right place.The sun had just set and the sidewalk was still teeming with people-- young couples walking along the Han, their fingers intertwined; high schoolers bowed over by the weight of their backpacks scurrying off to the hagwons; exhausted looking men and women, still in their suits and heels, heading home after another day of work. Jongin wove his way through the crowd and over to the bench where he was sitting. The two poodles sitting at his feet started yapping once Jongin sat down.

 

Key looked up from the glow of his phone and scowled at him.

 

“You’ve disturbed Commes Des and Garcons,” he said, “couldn’t you have been quieter, goddamn.”

 

Jongin gave him an exasperated look. “Seriously, Key? They’re puppies. You’re out in public. No one is quiet. If you didn’t want them to be disturbed then you should have left them behind.”

 

Key rolled his eyes at Jongin and pushed back the hood of his grey, fluffy oversized sweater, letting his hair fall across his forehead and into his eyes.

 

“They needed a walk and they like to sit along the Han. It’s good for them.” He bent down and patted the brown poodle on the head. “Isn’t that right, Commes Des?” he cooed.

 

Jongin made a face at the other man. “You’re fucking ridiculous.”

 

“And you’re just jealous that you don’t have two puppies that love you.”

 

“Nice to know that you haven’t changed a bit.” Jongin sat back, settling into the bench. “How was Japan?”

 

Key sighed dramatically, pushing his hair back with one hand. “Busy as hell. The yakuza motherfucker that we usually deal with got locked up so I’ve been dealing with this new guy who literally knows nothing and nearly fucked up an import coming in from the U.S. I had to call our contact in LA and try to get it smoothed over. That’s why I was out there so long. It’s been like _two_ months since I’ve been back in Seoul.”

 

Jongin couldn’t help but laugh. It had been over 4 years since he’d last seen Key and the other man was exactly the same. Same flamboyant clothes, same sass, just as melodramatic as ever.

 

Key narrowed his eyes at him. “Don’t laugh at me, you asshole. It was really rough! I hate Tokyo--it’s so fucking loud and dirty--and I had to leave my babies with Amber. She doesn’t even know how to treat them right!” he huffed. “But really though, what’s the story with you? Never thought I’d ever see you again. Hell, at this point, I was pretty sure you’d left Asia or were dead or something. I almost lost it when Taemin called me and told me to run a search for your number. It was a complete _bitch_ to find by the way--took me like 2 entire days. It’s like you’re trying to stay underground or something.”

 

Jongin shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe I didn’t want to be found.”

 

“Until you showed up at _View_ wanting to get back into Mugunghwa, you mean.”

 

There was an edge to Key’s voice, sharp and prying, like he was prying through Jongin’s exterior. Jongin swallowed, feeling a twinge of nervousness creep up his spine. Behind Key’s flair and theatrics had always been an uncanny knack for reading people and for untangling deceit in any and all forms. Jongin was going to have to be careful.

 

“Sometimes life just pulls you back,” Jongin said, his answer falling flat even to his own ears.

 

Key eyed him skeptically. “That’s complete bullshit,” he said. Garcons perked his head up and put his paws on Key’s knees. Key picked him up and put the dog in his lap, stroking its black fur. “No one just comes back to this shit. When you leave, you leave because you’re certain that you’re done. Because this shit--” he spread his arms wide, “bent you until you broke.” He paused and pulled the hood back over his head. “Mugunghwa didn’t just bend you,” he continued, his voice low. “It tugged and stretched you until you shattered. When you left that night, there was no doubt that you were done. We all knew it. Taemin never talked about you after that, you know? He never looked for you. He never said your name. He acted like _you_ were the one who died.”

 

Jongin sat, frozen in place, electing instead to concentrate on the way the lights from the street refracted on the river’s surface. He was afraid of interrupting Key, afraid of opening his mouth and saying the wrong thing, anything.

 

Key placed Garcons back on the ground and crossed his legs in his lap.

 

“So you’ve gone silent now?”

 

“I don’t know what else to tell you, Kibum” Jongin said. He was being honest now and he felt his anxiety rise and crystallize into a sharp hostility. “I’m here. I’m back. I had unfinished business. I’m taking care of it now.”

 

Key nodded slowly. “Whatever this ‘business’ is, it better be really fucking important. Tae doesn’t have the time or the energy for this right now.”

 

Jongin looked at him, frustrated. “What the hell does my reappearance have to do with Taemin?”

 

Key laughed, the sound harsh in the open air. “You’re just as oblivious as I remember.” He hopped up from the bench and looped his dog’s leashes around his left hand.

 

“I want you to know that I don’t trust you, Jongin,” he said, his back to Jongin. “I don’t know what it is yet, but this whole you-showing-back-up-and-wanting-to-be-let-back-in thing doesn’t sit right with me. And if were up to me, I wouldn’t have let you anywhere _near_ Mugunghwa.” He sighed. “But I don’t make the rules and Taemin never fucking listens to me. So instead I have to escort your ass to the stockhouse.” Key rolled his eyes. “By orders of His Royal Majesty Taemin.” He scoffed and muttered something that sounded like _that goddamn idiot_ under his breath. Jongin watched as the puppies pounced on one another, tangling their leashes together, his anxiousness softening.

 

“Sounds like you’re stuck with me, one way or another,” Jongin said, his voice sounding much more confident than he felt.

 

Key turned around, one hand on his hip. “Yep. But that just gives me the chance to keep my eyes on you.”

 

Jongin flashed a quick smile at the older man. “I just hope you end up liking what you see.”

 

\-----

The stockhouse was a small orange two floor house nestled between two identical homes--one pale blue, the other a gentle gray--on a sloping road. The neighborhood was unassuming; the quiet sort of place tucked away off one of the main streets where nice families with nice kids and slightly less than nice cars live in relative comfort and security. It was the last place any police officer would look for a drug storehouse. Jongin had to admit to himself; Taemin had done an excellent job in picking this location.

 

Key led his two yapping puppies up to the front steps and rang the doorbell, tapping his fingers impatiently against the frame as the two men waited.

 

There were a series of clicks on the other side of the door as what sounded like a series of locks were undone, and the door opened. Amber was standing on the other side, dressed as boyishly as always--snapback on backwards, baggy jeans, and an oversized crewneck sweatshirt.

 

“You gonna tap a hole into the door, Kibum?” she said, frowning at him.

 

“You gonna make us wait out here forever?” he snapped back. “I’m hungry and Comme Des and Garcons need to come inside.”

 

“You’re such a fucking baby.” Amber rolled her eyes at him and stepped out of the doorway. “Come in then.”

 

Key picked up Comme Des and shoved Garcons into Jongin’s arms then walked through the door.

 

“I’ve arrived and I’ve brought the deserter!” he announced as he made his way towards the dimly lit kitchen, Jongin shuffling behind him, his arms full of squirming puppy. The dog sprung out of his arms and ran over to paw at Amber’s legs.

 

“Do you _have_ to make so much noise all the time, Key?” There were four people--three young men, one woman-- sitting around a cluttered kitchen table measuring out and bagging lychee. Jongin recognized the men--Taeil, Taeyong, and Doyoung, maybe?--he’d seen them milling around Mugunghwa. He had never seen the girl who was looking up from what she was working on to scowl at Key.

 

“I’ve been gone for two months Sunyoung.” Key put Comme Des down and went over to the cabinet and took out a bottle of rum, unscrewed the cap and took a sip straight from the bottle. “You should cherish me more. My returns should always be an event.”

 

“Not when you’re fucking annoying whenever you come back,” Sunyoung fired back. “It was really nice and quiet while you were gone. No puppies running around everywhere.”

 

Amber laughed and maneuvered her way around Jongin to put her arms around Sunyoung, kissing her on the top of her head. Sunyoung smiled up at her and leaned back into her embrace.  

 

Key scoffed and waved her off with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Whatever. No one’s asking you to be here. You’re not even a part of Mugunghwa. You just come around cause you’re fucking Amber.”

 

Sunyoung turned pink and the boys started snickering. Amber gave Key the finger. “Fuck you, Key. She still does more than you ever do. I don’t see you helping to cut the lychee.”

 

“Don’t have to,” he countered, “I’ve been here since the beginning remember? I don’t do grunt work. I never come here unless Taemin asks me to. Which is the only reason why I’m here now.”

 

Taeyong laughed. “You’re not going to see Taemin-hyung anytime soon. He’s with Jimin.”

 

“Jimin?” Jongin said, cutting in.

 

Sunyoung quirked an eyebrow at Jongin. “Yeah,” she said. “He’s upstairs with Jimin. They’ve been up there for like 2 hours now. Jimin fucked up some deal or something and Taemin is livid. They were yelling before you came in.” Taeyong started laughing again.

 

“Though from the sounds of it, they’re _not just fighting_ , if you get what I mean,” he said. Sunyoung giggled.

 

A slow wave of understanding washed over Jongin, flooding him with a sick realization.

 

If Jongin’s discovery was apparent on his face, Key didn’t seem to notice. He put the bottle of rum down on the countertop and scowled.

 

“Ugh, I don’t have time to be waiting while he fucks around or whatever,” he said, annoyed. “He told me to bring Jongin here and I did that. I have shit I need to do. Watch my puppies.”

 

“You’re not going up there, are you?” Doyoung said, “He gets so pissed whenever you walk in on him.”

 

“Correction,” Key said. “He gets pissed whenever  _you_ walk in on him. I’m not some low level dealer with zero standing. _I_ can do whatever I want.” He pointed at Jongin. “Come on, you.”

 

Startled, Jongin slowly uprooted himself from where he was standing and blindly followed Key out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

 

Key went up to the first closed door in the hallway and knocked loudly. There was frantic whispering on the other side of the door followed by a dull thud and the sounds of someone scrambling around. Key rapped on the door again.

 

“I’m coming in!” he shouted, impatiently, turning the knob.

Jongin peered over Key’s shoulder and into the room. His breathing stopped.

Taemin was sitting shirtless in the middle of the disheveled bed with his jeans undone and slung low on his hips. His hair was messy, floating around his head in a white blond cloud. Jimin was standing by the foot of the bed, his shirt halfway onto his body. He took one look at Key standing in the doorway and shot him a dirty look.

 

“What the fuck Key?” he said, clearly annoyed. “You can’t just barge in like that.”

 

Key grinned at the younger man and walked into the bedroom, leaving Jongin standing in the doorway. “I can and I did. You weren’t answering the door. It only makes sense that I let myself in.”

 

Jimin sighed and pulled his shirt all the way on. He caught Jongin’s eye and smirked at him. _It’s exactly what you think. He’s mine_ , he seemed to say. Jongin felt all the heat in his body rush to his head, his vision going fuzzy in a quick flash of anger. _It would be so easy,_ he thought, _so easy to rush across the threshold and beat the shit out of him_. His hands balled into tight fists and he closed his eyes and tried to regulate his breathing.

 

He heard Taemin laugh. “It’s just like you to start harassing people the second you get back in the country.” Jongin opened his eyes and saw Taemin smiling at him. “Hey Jonginnie,” he said.

 

Jongin just nodded at him, unable to trust himself to speak. Taemin hopped up from the bed and picked up a stray gray t-shirt  from the floor, pulling it over his head. Jongin pulled his eyes away from Taemin, not wanting to watch him get dressed. Instead, he tried to focus on the large bedroom: on its wide, drapeless windows, the worn wooden floors, the barebones mattress and boxspring in the middle, the old metal desk and threadbare office chair shoved in the corner.

 

Taemin went over to the desk and perched himself on its edge.

 

“You’re early Key. I wasn’t expecting you to show up for at least another two hours.”

 

Key scoffed. “I’m tired,” he whined. “I wanted to get this over with so I showed up ahead of time.”

 

“What if I was busy with something?”

 

Key’s eyes darted between Taemin and Jimin who was still standing in the middle of the room and scoffed.

 

“You weren’t.”

 

Taemin laughed out loud, his head tipping back. “You’re right. Only thing is that Jimin lost track of three of the new dealers that we recruited this month, isn’t that right Jiminnie?” Taemin scowled at the younger man. “They made off with almost 5,000,000 won worth of lychee. And now I have to deal with that on top of trying to train that one.” He nodded in Jongin’s direction.

 

“Train me?” Jongin said, finally breaking his silence.

 

Taemin grinned and nodded. “I have a new project that I need your help with.”

 

Jongin tilted his head to the side, curiosity taking over from his rushing anger. The journalist inside of him perked his head up. This was exactly the lead he needed to make his story. The former kkang-pae that he had buried deep burrowed his way up, ready to rise to the occasion. And the other part, the truest part, of him warmed at the opportunity to spend more time with Taemin.

 

“What the hell?” Jimin said, his voice rising.“Why him? He hasn’t even _been_ here that long and he doesn’t even do anything!”

 

Taemin fixed Jimin with one long look. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand, Jimin.”

 

“What the fuck do you mean ‘don’t understand’?” he retorted. “The only thing I don’t understand is why you trust him at all when all he did was show up one day. I’ve been a part of Mugunghwa for almost 2 and a half years now, I thought you trusted me. You could at least give me a chance!”

 

“Why would I give you a chance when you can’t even do the easiest shit?” Taemin said, yelling now. Jongin started. It had been years since he last heard Taemin shout at anyone. “You fuck up at every turn and then you come back to me acting like everything should be forgiven. You don’t deserve any more power or responsibility than what you have now. Hell, you barely deserve what you’re given now.”

 

“And he does?” Jimin pointed towards Jongin, “Why the hell do you trust him anyways? What the hell has he ever done?”

 

“He helped _build this_ ,” Key snapped, butting in. “There would be no Mugunghwa without Jongin. He predates you, he outranks you, he’s one hundred times smarter and infinitely more qualified than you will ever be.” He crossed the room in three quick strides and stood directly in front of Jimin, his face a mere inch away from the younger man’s. Jimin flinched and Jongin watched as he fought the urge to take a step back.

 

“And who the _fuck_ are you to talk to Taemin like that?” Key spat. “Don’t fucking forget who you are, Park. Don’t forget who he is.”

 

Jongin glanced at Taemin who was watching the entire exchange with his arms crossed over his chest. Taemin caught him staring then quickly diverted his gaze, an unreadable look on his face.

 

“Get out,” he said, his voice low. “All of you. Leave.”

 

Key looked at Taemin, a confused look on his face.

 

“Seriously? I came all the way across the city to see you here and now you don’t want to talk?”

 

Taemin shook his head at him.

 

“You and Jimin should leave.”

 

Jimin broke away from Key and turned to leave, his face screwed up in what looked like the effort to keep from crying, his eyes fixed on the floor on the way to the door. He pushed past Jongin, shoulder checking him on the way out.

 

Key looked at Taemin for a minute longer then nodded.

 

“Alright. When do you want me to come back?”

 

“Tomorrow,” Taemin said. “Come back tomorrow afternoon. The three of us will talk then.”

 

Key nodded again and then turned to leave. Jongin moved to follow, but Taemin called out after him.

 

“Jongin. No. You stay with me.” He didn’t sound mad, his words weren’t harsh.

 

Jongin turned around, his heart beating quickly.

 

“Shut the door.”

 

Jongin pushed the door shut with his palm, not turning away from Taemin. He walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, his hands smoothing over the damp, crumpled comforter. The two men sat in silence for what felt like forever, the tension in the room growing tight like a noose around their necks. Jongin shifted around uncomfortably, trying to make sense of everything he’d just witnessed.

 

Taemin got up from the desk and flopped down on the bed dramatically, face first.

 

“Jimin is so exhausting,” He groaned, his voice muffled by the discolored pillow, all the animosity gone. “He’s always fucking shit up. I swear I lose more money than I make because of him.” He flipped over and faced the ceiling.

 

“So why are you fucking him, then?” The words tasted sour on Jongin’s tongue. It wasn’t really what he’d wanted to say. It felt wrong bringing up what he had just discovered, especially now that he knew that Taemin had ‘plans’ for him but now, sitting on a disheveled bed that was so obviously stained with the evidence of Jimin and Taemin’s relationship, he couldn’t help but spit out the words.

 

Taemin turned over on his side to face him, propping his head up with one hand. He smiled. “Are we that obvious?” He said, his tone strangely playful.

 

Jongin’s face grew hot again, his anger easily evident. He didn’t know why he was so angry. It only made sense that Taemin was seeing someone, that he was sleeping with someone. He’d known that there was something between Taemin and Jimin from the moment he’d first seen the way that Jimin looked at Tae. It had been an easy look to recognize. Jongin had worn the same expression too many times for him to properly remember. But he had worn it first. It had been Jongin’s look to give to Taemin. Taemin’s body had been for Jongin to touch. Taemin still had an intractable grip on Jongin’s body, on his heart. And as illogical as it sounded, Jongin still felt like he held a piece of Taemin in his own hands.

 

Taemin’s smile grew soft, his eyes going hazy. “After all this time, Jongin? Are you jealous?” His voice was gentle. Jongin caught his breath at the tenderness in his words and he felt the fire in his heart slowly extinguish.

 

“No,” Jongin said quickly, too quickly, trying to backpedal his flash of anger. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, staring down at the beige pattern on the comforter. “It’s not that. I’m not jealous. You just. . .caught me off guard.” Jongin stood up from the bed and walked over to the window. He leaned against the cold glass, trying to will the burning blood rushing through his body to cool down.

 

Taemin took a deep breath and lay back down on his back. “It’s not like that between me and Jimin,” he said, his words directed at the ceiling. “Yeah we fuck, but it’s not anything else. It’s not like. . .” Taemin let his words trail off, his unfinished sentence hanging heavily in the air.

 

Jongin wanted to finish the sentence for him, to place himself and the memory of what they had into Taemin’s mouth.

 

_It’s not like it was with you._

 

“How many people have touched you since you left?” Taemin asked quietly.

 

Jongin’s heart sped up at the question, his words catching and sticking themselves to the sides of his throat.

 

“Not that many. Two. Just two,” he said after a moment, his voice low and scratchy.

 

There had been a moment--brief, but a moment nonetheless--one year into his time away from Mugunghwa when the shock of leaving his other life became too much to bear. Jongin had started seeking out someone else to hold him at night, someone to occupy the seeping hole that Taemin once filled. First there had been Kyungsoo--a sweet and mild mannered copy editor at the _Times_ who worked in the Local Events department. It had been obvious from the first time that Jongin had met him that Kyungsoo had been interested in him--he always caught him staring and blushing during meetings. It took a while, but one day Kyungsoo nervously asked him out for a cup of coffee and Jongin accepted. The one date turned into two, into three, and then ultimately resulted in Jongin pressing Kyungsoo into his mattress, his fingers digging into his thighs as he hoisted his legs up around his shoulders. That relationship lasted about 2 months before Kyungsoo became fed up with Jongin’s aloofness and they broke up, avoiding one another at the office ever since. Then there had been Chanyeol, the tall, impossibly handsome bartender at the upscale bar that opened near his apartment. There had been no delay with Chanyeol--none of the same false pretense of a relationship that had existed with Kyungsoo. Instead, Chanyeol was pushing into him on the very first night that they met. Chanyeol lasted longer than Kyungsoo; a whole six months passed before Jongin shoved him off, somehow feeling even more empty than he had been before he had let someone other than Taemin touch his deepest parts.

 

“Only two?” Taemin was silent for a moment while he turned this information over in his head. “Interesting.”

 

“Should I even ask about how many people you’ve touched?” The sourness was back, tainting Jongin’s tone.

 

Taemin barked out a short, harsh laugh. “It’s way more than two.”

 

A dark look fell over him and then he got up from the bed and went back over to the desk, where he opened a drawer and removed a small ziploc bag full of lychee. He put the bag on the desktop.

 

“You ever try lychee, Jongin?”

 

“You’re kidding, right?” Jongin pressed his shoulders back harder into the window and crossed his arms. “Lychee will fuck you up. Everyone knows that. Besides, have you forgotten what Junsu and Jaejoong taught us? First rule of dealing is ‘never use what you sell’.”

 

Taemin smirked and rolled his eyes at him. “Oh really? Remind me-- exactly how much weed did we smoke when we were with Cassiopeia? Last time I checked, we were most definitely supposed to be selling most of what we were lighting up.” He unzipped the baggie and took out one small ball, rolling it between his long fingers. “And lychee really isn’t all that bad. You just have to know how to use it. Most people don’t. They take the whole ball at once and that’s why they fuck up their insides.”

 

Jongin raised one eyebrow at the other man. “And you know how to use it?”

 

Taemin smiled at him, his face lighting up. “Oh Jonginnie, you have so little faith in me.”  He opened another desk drawer and took out a pocket knife, a silver lighter, a tiny bottle of soju, and a small porcelain bowl. “Come over here.”

 

Reluctantly, Jongin left his post by the window and went over to stand next to Taemin at the desk.

 

“Lychee can be good, so good,” Taemin said as he flicked the lighter on and held it up to the solitary ball of lychee. “There’s something really soft and sweet about it. There’s no high like it.”

 

Jongin watched as the translucent exterior of the drug sparked and began to melt, its smooth surface warping under the heat. Biting his lip in concentration, Taemin took the knife and carved off a tiny sliver of the drug, dropping it into the bowl. Quickly, he poured the entire bottle of soju over it and used the knife to stir until it dissolved. Satisfied, he held the bowl out to Jongin.

 

“Go ahead. You only need to take one sip,” Taemin said, nodding at him. “I know what I’m doing, I promise. I do this all the time.”

 

Slowly, Jongin took the bowl from Taemin and brought it up to his nose, breathing in. It had the normal clean tang of soju but there was an acidic bitterness woven in, probably a consequence of the lychee. He doesn’t want to take this. He doesn’t want to find out how lychee will warp his body, fuck up his intestines. He doesn’t want to know what his mind and heart will lead him to do when he’s high off of an unfamiliar drug. He glanced at Taemin who was eyeing him expectantly. He took another breath, fought  the urge to pour the mixture out on the floor and brought it to his lips, taking the smallest of sips from the bowl. It tasted sweet, floral. Almost like the real lychee fruit. He handed the bowl back to Taemin who placed his lips over the damp spot left by Jongin’s own and drained it, his eyes closing as it tipped down his throat. He placed the bowl back on the desktop and smiled at Jongin.

 

“You’re not going to feel it just yet,” he said. “It’ll take a minute or two, especially since it’s your first time.”

 

Jongin nodded, slowly. It felt like his head was becoming lighter and lighter, like it could float away from his body at any minute. The room was beginning to fuzz--the lamplight dimming and smoothing in front of his eyes. He turned his gaze to Taemin and the other man seemed to drift in and out of focus, the blond of his hair starting to glow like a muted halo. He reached out and put his hand on the desk to steady himself, the metal cold under his fingers.

 

Taemin laughed. “Looks like you’re the exception. It’s starting to hit you already.” He took Jongin’s hand, linking his fingers with his own and lead him over to the bed. “Sit,” Taemin commanded. “It’ll make the initial wave a lot easier.”

 

Jongin sat down on the bed, grateful to not be standing. His body felt warm, and pleasantly numb and he felt a smile stretch across his face. From the bed, he could watch the room bend and float, and he watched as the light from the lamp reduced itself into a thousand million tiny golden beads that drew closer and closer to his body. Jongin reached out one hand and tried to close his fingers over one.

 

Taemin plopped down next to him and laughed again, sounding both too loud and too soft.

 

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Taemin asked. “It’s like everything warms up and time liquefies.”

 

Jongin nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He lay down on his back instead, watching the light particles bounce off of the ceiling.

 

There was movement and Taemin lay down next to him, his shoulder pressing gently against Jongin’s own. The two men lay there in silence, letting the lychee wash over them. Jongin closed his eyes and focused on the buoyancy inside his body. He felt airy, like a spring breeze could blow through the room and lift him up to ride the wind.

 

“How does it feel?” Taemin asked, his voice quiet and slight.

 

“Light,” Jongin whispered, his eyes still closed, words full of awe, “I feel light.”

 

Later, sitting alone at the kitchen table in his empty apartment, Jongin will struggle to pinpoint the exact moment that he and Taemin melted together. He won’t be sure if it was Taemin that kissed him first or if he was the one who pressed their mouths together. He won’t be certain if Taemin’s mouth was truly that soft, that warm, or if it was the lychee that melted away any roughness. His memory will skim over who pulled off who’s shirt first, who was the first to fist their hands into the other’s hair. He won’t sure where their clothes ultimately ended up or how Taemin ended up on top of him. But he will remember the delicate warmth of Taemin’s skin and the way his body gleamed in the shower of light. He will remember the slow kisses that Taemin pressed to his neck and collarbone, the impossibly slow slide of his hands down his torso. He will remember gripping at Taemin’s shoulders and turning him over, pressing him down into the comforter and tracing his hands across the intricate tattoo adorning his back, feathering his fingers over the leaves and soft petals of the familiar mugunghwa branch. He will remember the easy breaths and moans that slid out of Taemin and the way they seemed to echo and amplify in the tiny room. He will remember the tug and push of their kisses, their tender-brief battle for dominance. He will remember surrendering with a cry, the heat of Taemin’s hands and mouth breaking his resolve. He will remember feeling Taemin push his shoulders into the bed and the numb thrill as he eased a lubed finger into him. He will remember the gentle sparks that erupted inside of him and the liquid light that filled him when Taemin eventually pushed in and moved, running his mouth over his back with his hands fast on his hips. He will remember the plush of the comforter clenched between his fingers, the dull bang of the headboard against the wall, the desperate gasps that ricocheted between him and Taemin. The way that Taemin murmured his name over and over again in a semi-silent prayer. And the burst of livewire electricity when his body finally gave over; the bright zing of his orgasm starting at the very tips of his fingers and working its way towards his heart, stuttering its steady beat. Out of the swirling chaos and loud confusion of the day, these will be the details that he will remember.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a new chapter. It's super late where I am. I should be asleep cause I have to get up in like 5 hours lololol. Not proofread, I'll handle that later. I kinda hate this chapter, it feels more like filler than anything else, but I worked on it for like a month so I figured that I'd just get it out. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	9. Chapter 8

Jongin jolted awake to the dull, stilted buzz of his cellphone vibrating on the hardwood of his kitchen table. He lifted his face from the surface of the table, head groggy, hand grappling around for his phone. He closed his fingers over the hard plastic square and squinted at the name flashing on the screen before bringing it up to his ear.

 

“Hello?” he croaked out, his voice gravelly.

 

“Oh, so you are awake?” Jonghyun’s voice--too loud, too abrasive--cut through the throbbing fog clouding Jongin’s head. He winced, and rolled his head back and forth, trying to ease the creaking stiffness in his neck.

 

“Goddammit, Jonghyun,” he rasped, “Do you know what time it is?”

 

“Yes,” Jongin could almost hear the bouncing nod in Jonghyun’s voice, “It’s 6 am. We need to meet.”

 

“What the fuck? Couldn’t you have waited until _after_ the sun came up to call me?”

 

“No,” Jonghyun said brusquely, “We need to meet now. Like right now. Jinki and I are parked outside your apartment building. We’re in the alleyway.”

 

Jongin blinked, watching his kitchen blur into two then fuzz back into a hazy focus.

 

“You want to meet now?” he repeated, trying to make Jonghyun’s words click together in his head.

 

Jonghyun groaned. “You’re really fucking stupid in the morning. Yes. _Now._ It’s an emergency. Jinki and I have been out here for almost 30 minutes. I’ve been calling and texting you since we left the station.”

 

Jongin swore under his breath. His head was throbbing. “Ok. Sure, whatever. I’ll be down in a minute.”

 

“We’ll be here waiting,” Jonghyun said into the phone, his voice gone singsong-y. He disconnected and Jongin dropped his phone back down on to the kitchen table with a clatter. He groaned and slumped face first back onto the table. His body felt heavy and cold--like it was made out of granite, a sharp contrast to the warm, honeyed light that had seemed to fill him when he had been with Taemin last night. He swallowed, feeling the muscles in his throat grind and burn together. Taemin had snuck out of the small bedroom at the storehouse soon after the two of them had fallen away from one another, his fingers lightly skimming over Jongin’s stomach as he rose from the disheveled bed.

 

" _Don’t wait up for me_ ,” he’d whispered as he slipped back into his discarded clothes and left the room.

 

Jongin had lay there, alone, feeling the last sparks and flickers of the lychee ebb out of his system. After what felt an eternity, he had eased himself up from the bed and shuffled around, getting dressed, his head hazy. Somehow--Jongin couldn’t quite remember how--he’d slipped out of the dark house and wound his way through the late night streets back to his apartment building. After pressing the wrong floor in the elevator and confusedly trying to force his key into the apartment door across the hall, Jongin let himself into his apartment and slumped into one of his kitchen chairs, his upper body collapsing onto the table. It had felt like his entire body was crumbling as his high finally wore off.

 

Jongin slowly picked his head up from the tabletop and eased himself out of his chair, feeling the weight of his bones, heavy like wet sand. He was starting to understand why Jinki had said that lychee eats your body from the inside out. He felt like his body was dissolving. The room spun again, and he hurried over to the kitchen sink, making it over just in time to avoid vomiting yellow-green bile all over the tile floor. He grimaced and turned the tap on, washing the sick down the drain. He cupped his hands under the cold stream and brought the water up to his lips, swishing it around in his mouth before spitting it back into the sink. He cupped another mouthful and drank it down, wincing as the icy water slid down his raw throat. His phone rang again.

 

“Where the fuck are you, Kim?” Jonghyun shouted at him through the receiver. “We can’t wait out here forever, this is suspicious as fuck.”

 

“Yah, hyung, I’m coming down now,” Jongin said. He ended the call before Jonghyun could say anything else and grabbed his keys off the table and left his apartment. It was still dark out and the air was crisp, edging towards cold. The sidewalk in front of Jongin’s building was silent and empty, as if the lingering darkness had muffled and muted the early morning.

 

Jonghyun and Jinki were parked exactly where they said they would be, in the same car that Jinki had used to pick them up from their meeting with Amber what felt like an eternity ago. Jongin went over and opened the backdoor, sliding out of the cold early air and into the stuffy warmth.

 

“Took you long enough,”Jonghyun swiveled around in the front passenger seat to face Jongin. He studied his face for a minute then frowned. “Why do you always look like shit whenever I see you now?”

 

Jongin somehow found the energy to scowl at the older man.

 

“Why the fuck did you call me at 6 in the morning?” he said instead, choosing to ignore Jonghyun’s comment. His head was still swimming too aggressively for him to think of a good excuse for his appearance.

 

“There’s been an incident,” Jinki said, also turning to look Jongin in the eyes. The police sergeant looked even more exhausted than he had the last time that Jongin had seen him. Any sign of the easy smile that had set Jongin at ease during their first meeting was gone, replaced by tight, hard lines around his eyes and mouth.

 

Jongin frowned. “What type of incident?”

 

“There’s been a kidnapping. A young girl’s been taken,” Jonghyun filled in.

 

“So?” Jongin said. “That happens all the time. That shouldn’t have anything to do with me.”  
  
“This is different,” Jinki said. “She’s the daughter of a big time Japanese yakuza boss based out of Osaka. She was allegedly kidnapped early this morning, at around 3 am. Based on what we know, it sounds like she was probably taken by Mugunghwa or at least by someone affiliated with Mugunghwa.”

 

“And?” Jongin was skeptical. “Why does she matter? If she’s the daughter of a yakuza boss, then why is she in South Korea? And why the fuck would someone affiliated with the yakuza call the police if something is wrong? That’s not in their usual protocol.”

 

Jinki nodded. “I know. But this is different. Hey, Jonghyun--” he nodded in Jonghyun’s direction and the other man handed him a manila folder that was tucked into the glove compartment. Jinki passed it over to Jongin who flipped it open. Inside was a missing person’s report, freshly done, complete with a school picture of the missing girl secured to the top right hand corner with a paper clip.

 

“Her name is Ozawa Nami,” Jinki continued. “Her mother is Korean and they’ve both been living in Seoul for the past ten years. She’s had minimal contact with her father, her mother said he hasn’t seen Nami since she was in kindergarten but that he sends money for her school tuition every month. From what I understood, it sounds like Nami barely knows her father and she has no idea that he’s involved in organized crime.”

 

Jongin quickly skimmed the profile in the report. Nami was barely 14 and had recently started at one of the most exclusive all-girls high schools in Seoul. Her father was clearly providing her with some serious money.

 

“Why do you think Mugunghwa is involved with this?” he asked.

 

“Because they said so,” Jonghyun responded. “Flip to the next page.”

 

Jongin turned the report over and his eyes widened.

 

“Two masked men broke into their home this morning,” Jonghyun said, summarizing the details on the page. “They woke up Nami and her mother and asked them if they knew why her father fucked Lee Taemin over. When they both said that they had no idea what they were talking about, one of the guys slapped the mother across the face and they both took Nami, saying that they’d bring her back when one of them had an answer to their question. Sounds like Mugunghwa to me.”

 

 _Shit_. “. . .I don’t understand.”

 

Jongin’s head throbbed. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, breathing hard. Not Taemin. Not this.

 

“What’s there not to understand?” Jonghyun snapped. “Sounds like Taemin is holding this girl hostage until he gets whatever the hell that it is that he wants from her father. He’s probably in a tight spot right now with all the shit that’s happening to Mugunghwa and he likely needs money. And knowing his usual methods, she’s probably in a hell of a lot of danger. Taemin’s not known for his compassion. She’s lucky if she’s not being beaten right now just so that Taemin can send gruesome ransom pictures to her dad.”

 

“We need to find her,” Jinki said urgently, interrupting Jonghyun “You’re working directly with Taemin now--I’m sure you’ll see her. She’s probably in critical danger right now, and I don’t trust Taemin. If things were going normally with Mugunghwa, I have no doubt that he’d kill her.”

 

Jongin fixed the older man with a stare. A new, raw slimy feeling settled deep in his stomach.

 

“And now that things aren’t going ‘normally’?”

 

Jinki furrowed his brow and shook his head, his eyes seeming to sink deeper into his face.

 

“Now,” he said, his voice weary, “She’ll be lucky if all he does is just kill her.”

 

Jongin swallowed hard, his saliva sticking to the back of his throat.

 

“And I’m supposed to find her? And then what? I can’t just break her out of there, I can’t just let you know where they’re keeping her. The second you all come in to save her, they’re going to know that something is up.” Key’s warning came thundering back into his head and Jongin felt his face grow hot with premature panic. “It’ll be so easy for someone, anyone to put two and two together and realize that the new guy ratted them out.” He leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees. The car felt small, the itchy polyester of the backseat pressing rough and close against his back.

 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Jongin looked frantically from Jinki to Jonghyun. “I’m a fucking _journalist_ . I don’t know what I’m doing--I don’t know how to break up a gang, I don’t know how to do this and not get fucking _murdered_ or blow my cover. I don’t know how to not lose myself in this.” He took a deep breath. “I’m _fucking_ terrified. I don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t know what to do.”

 

Jinki stared at Jongin, his face unreadable. He nodded.

 

“You want out?” He asked, his voice low and measured. “You don’t have to do this. You’re doing us a favor, not the other way around. You can say no. You can say stop.”

 

Jongin glanced at Jonghyun who raised one, slow eyebrow at him.

 

“It’s up to you Jongin,” Jinki said, matter of factly. “You can walk away. We can make sure that you stay safe. You’re not so important  to Mugunghwa that they’ll come looking for you if you leave now. There’s still time for you to get out. We asked you to do this, not the other way around. I can’t keep forcing you into this.”

 

Jongin opened his mouth, closed it and then shook his head.

 

“Yes,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want to say yes. More than anything. But that’s not an option is it? I’m too deep in this.” He took a deep breath and placed both hands down on the seat beside him. “Mugunghwa  _will_ come after me if I leave now. If I leave again.”

 

“Again?” Jinki looked at Jongin pointedly. Jongin heard Jonghyun swear quietly under his breath.

 

Jongin bit his tongue hard, as if the pain would snatch the words back into his mouth. _Fuck_.

 

“I. . .I,” he started, stumbling.

 

“Give him a break, hyung,” Jonghyun said, cutting in. “You just sprung this huge, scary thing on him. Jongin is allowed to misspeak.”

 

Jongin leaned his head back against the headrest, his heart pounding hard in his chest, sweat pooling under his arms. The deepest part of his stomach was rolling. He was losing grip, he could feel the dividing line between his dual lives stretching thinner and thinner.

 

“You ok, Kim?” Jonghyun said. He and Jinki were watching him, their eyes heavy on his skin.

 

Jongin felt a wave of nausea hit him hard and he bolted upright and opened the door, retching on to the cold asphalt of the alleyway. He coughed, his hair hanging limply into his eyes, tears streaming down his face. Whether they were a result of the vomiting or from something else, Jongin wasn’t sure. He coughed again and then straightened up, wiping at his face and closing the car door.

 

Jinki handed him a half empty bottle of room temperature water. Jongin accepted it and gulped it down, grateful for something to wash the acidic taste out of his mouth.

 

“Hopefully that’ll teach you to not do lychee,” Jinki said, calmly.

 

Jongin sputtered. “How’d you know?”

 

“I’ve seen my fair share of people on lychee. They all look and move the same after their first try. I could tell once I saw you walk towards the car.”

 

Jongin stared blankly at Jinki for a moment, then nodded slowly.

 

“I guess I just don’t handle the come down well,” he murmured, feeling slightly embarrassed.

 

Jonghyun laughed. “Don’t think you’re special, Jongin. No one handles lychee well. It would be something if you had taken it _and_ felt fine in the morning.”

 

Jongin thought about Taemin and the easy way he’d gotten up from the bed. He frowned.

 

“I guess so.” He rubbed a clammy hand over his face and glanced back down at the case file. “I guess there’s really only one way to handle this, isn’t there? I’m your best option aren’t I?” He swallowed, tasting the sour sickness on the back of his tongue. He didn’t want to do this. It was risky. But he knew that it was too late to try to find a way out. Between the Seoul PD and Mugunghwa, Jongin knew that he was too deeply entangled, caught in the center of a complicated web like the one on Jinki’s whiteboard.

 

 

 

Jinki fixed him with a slow, careful stare. “You are our best bet,” he responded, his voice almost gentle. “We don’t need you to do anything too drastic. We just need you to keep an eye on her, if you can, that is. Just until we have enough of a time buffer so that we can go in there and get her for ourselves without it looking suspicious. Buy us some time. Just keep her alive until we can get her.”

 

Jonghyun put his hand on Jongin’s knee, a knowing look on his face.

 

“You can do that for us,” he said, a knowing lilt to his voice, “Can’t you?”

 

Jongin stared at the older man, bit his lip, and nodded. His head felt like it weighed one hundred pounds.

 

“I’ll try.”

*****

Jongin stumbled back through the hallway of his apartment complex, hazily fumbling with his keys as he walked towards his door.

 

“Where were you?”

 

Jumping, Jongin looked up from the keyring in his left hand to see Key leaning against his door, his hands shoved in the pockets of his puffy gray coat, a black snapback pulled low over his forehead.

 

“What the fuck are are you doing here?” Jongin said, his heart racing in his chest. He narrowed his eyes at the other man. “How the hell do you know where I live?”

 

Key shrugged, a bored look on his face. “It wasn’t hard. I just dug around city records for a bit. I’ve known where you lived ever since I tracked down your phone number. We have work to do today. Taemin wants to meet to talk about your new project.”

 

“I thought we were meeting in the afternoon?”

 

Key shook his head. “Nah. He called me earlier. Things ended up falling into place earlier than he thought they would. We need to meet now.”

 

Jongin sighed loudly and stuck both hands in his hair. “Can I at least go inside and grab a jacket? Brush my teeth? Something?”

 

Key glared at him and pushed off from the door.

 

“I’m giving you 5 minutes.”

*****

“So where are we going exactly?” Jongin tugged the hood of his sweatshirt low over his forehead. They were sitting in Key’s non descript white Toyota,  Jongin curled tightly into the passenger side seat, legs tucked underneath him, watching the Seoul streets whizz past through the window.

 

Key hummed in response and turned off of the main road, heading down a small side street, the road lined with old, decaying warehouses.

 

“Taemin wanted us to meet at a location that wouldn’t draw a lot of attention,” he said, slowing down in front of graying metal warehouse, the words “Hyolim, Ltd. Rice Importers” painted on the side in faded white, hardly visible.

 

“Do you really think that no one is going to notice a bunch of guys breaking into an old warehouse?”

 

Key laughed. “Not this warehouse. We make sure of that.” There was a purposeful curl of his tongue in the way he said ‘we’.  He cut the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Come on, Jongin.”

 

Jongin fumbled with his seatbelt and opened the passenger side door, following Key up towards the dark green side doors, the heavy metal scarred deeply with rust.

 

The twin doors were locked shut with a thick chain looped between the handles, a large, old fashioned padlock holding them fast. Key dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out a ring of keys. He rifled through them before selecting the heaviest one, sticking it in the keyhole and unlocking the chain. He pushed on the left door, hard, and it creaked open, the hinges screaming in protest.

 

“After you.” Jongin looked at the older man, his eyes still heavy with fatigue, and swallowed hard, trying to temper his lingering nausea, though this time he wasn’t sure if it was from the lychee or from the sinking sense of deja vu that the decaying warehouse conjured up in his mind.

 

Key caught him staring and smirked. “It reminds you of our old home, doesn’t it? The first one?”

 

Jongin had never been able to get over how eerily perceptive Key had always been.

 

“Yeah,” he said, his voice almost lost in the darkness of the hallway.  Key was fiddling with the chains and padlock, re-securing the door. “A little bit.”

 

Satisfied, Key shut the doors and put his hands on his hips. “Well, come on.”

 

Jongin followed Key down the corridor, now nearly pitch black in the absence of the light from the street. Key led them to a closed door, the handle barely visible in the low lighting and he knocked.

 

“Taemin! It’s us.”

 

There was a pause and then the door swung open, Taemin’s lanky frame filling almost the entire doorway.

 

“About time,” he said. He looked tired, tell-tale purple-blue bruises under his eyes, his hair hanging into his eyes, damp with sweat and stringy. His bottom lip was chapped, like he’d been worrying it between his teeth. He was still wearing the same jeans that he’d had on the night before and a wrinkled white undershirt, tucked into the waist, the v of the collar just low enough for Jongin to make out the red bites blooming across his chest. Jongin bit his lip, blue-hot emotions stirring in his stomach, as his mind ricocheted back to the warm feel of his mouth moving across Taemin’s skin as they lay on the disheveled bed the night before.

 

“Jongin took for- _fucking_ -ever,” Key whined, rolling his eyes. “Blame him.”

 

Taemin’s lips quirked upwards in a sleepy half smirk. “Oh, I will.” He pushed the door the rest of the way open and turned his back to the other two men. “She’s back here.”

 

Jongin chanced a look at Key who seemed to deliberately avoid his gaze and instead followed Taemin through the doorway. Jongin felt the pieces click together in his head in lightning sharp clarity. A heavy stone of dread rose high in his throat as he followed Key and Taemin into the dim light of the room.

 

The space was small, and stuffy, the walls seeming to press in on each other in the cottony dry heat. It had probably served as a supply closet when the factory had still been operational.There was almost no furniture--just a rickety card table that seemed as if it had seen much better days and two similarly dilapidated metal folding chairs. Key shut the door, and that’s when Jongin noticed her.

 

Nami had the same school girl round face that Jongin had seen in the photo in her file but now her bright eyes were tight and wild with fear. The rest of her features were obscured by a dark green bandana that was tied tightly around her mouth in a makeshift gag. She was sitting on the floor, behind the door, her legs folded underneath her, hands bound tightly in front of her with a length of what looked like electrical wire. She was still in her pyjamas--a pink two piece shorts and button down top set covered in small, fluffy white clouds. Her long, straight black hair was tangled and hung limply around her shoulders. Before he realized what he was doing, Jongin took a step towards her, and Nami’s eyes went wide and she struggled with the wire wrapped around her wrists. A sharp pang of recognition flashed through Jongin’s chest and he froze, fear and anger rising in him. He stepped back. He knew the look on Nami’s face. He’d worn the same one when he was small.

 

“That’s your project,” Taemin said, his voice eerily calm. Jongin ripped his gaze from the girl in front of him to follow the sound of his voice to where Taemin was leaning against the back wall, his arms folded over his chest, looking almost smug.

 

Jongin struggled to keep his voice steady, trying his best not to betray any of his anxiety bleed into his words.  “The girl?” He took a deep breath. “What the fuck, Taemin?”

 

“Yeah, the girl.” Taemin left his post and came to stand next to Jongin, draping one arm over his shoulder. Jongin flinched at the touch, his body burning at the contact. “Her father fucked me over this month,” Taemin whispered into his ear, sending soft shivers down Jongin’s spine. “He’s been playing dirty; lying, subverting my lychee shipments into Tokyo, basically trying to take over Mugunghwa’s share of the market. I’m trying to teach him a lesson.”

 

Jongin could feel his heart speed up in his chest and he shrugged out of Taemin’s embrace.

 

“And this is what you picked?” His words felt hot in his mouth and Jongin struggled to control the emotion in his voice. “She’s just a kid, Taemin!”

 

“Kids are the quickest path to the parent.” Taemin shrugged. It was scary how nonplussed he seemed. “This makes the most sense.”

 

Jongin felt his nose curl in disgust. “Why me, though? Why would you pin her to me? This shit was always your job when I was with Mugunghwa. Last time--”

 

“All of that was _before_ you ran off,” Key said, cutting Jongin off. “You leave, we reformat the rules.”

 

“And _last time_ ,” Taemin said, picking up the broken end of Jongin’s sentence, “the very last time you proved that you could handle something like this.”

 

Last time, Jongin had lost control. Last time, Jongin had listened to a man cry out for help. Last time, Jongin had walked dazed along the Han, hot blood cooling on his hands and sticking his shirt to his skin. Last time, Jongin had run away.

 

He clenched his fists. “I don’t think ‘handle’ is the right word to use here, hyung.”

 

Taemin smirked and shrugged once more. “The thing about murder is that once you go down that path, you can’t turn back. You’ve done it once. Who’s to say that you won’t do it again?”

 

Jongin felt a sudden chill fall over him, despite the heat in the room. “Fuck you, Taemin.”

Taemin’s face split into a wide smile, his eyes crinkling into half moons.

 

“Don’t worry, Jonginnie. I’m not asking you to hurt Nami-ssi.” He went over to the girl and put his hand on the top of her head, stroking her hair with his thumb. She recoiled from the touch, struggling again with her bindings. “You’re just in charge of her, until I get her father to agree with my terms.”

 

“And then what if he doesn’t?”

 

“You get to be. . . creative.” Taemin bit his lip in thought. “We can send him letters, or messages or something. You’re a writer--think of something that will scare the shit out of a father when it comes to his little girl.”

 

Jongin stared at Taemin in disbelief. “Why?” he asked, his voice soft. He glanced at Key who was still leaning against the wall inspecting his cuticles, as if begging him to intervene. “Why would you do this to a little girl? Don’t you know better? Didn’t you suffer enough when you were a kid? _Didn’t we both?_ ”

 

Jongin was breathing hard, panic rushing through his bloodstream in time to his racing heartbeat. He dug his fingernails into his palms, trying to distract himself from the panic with the dull pain.

 

Taemin stared at Jongin for a moment, his face dispassionate. After a beat he frowned, the corners of his mouth pulling downwards.

 

“Maybe I did,” he said, his brow furrowed in what looked like concentration. “But the people who did those terrible things to us only did them because it was effective. They almost always got what they wanted. I need to get what I want now.”

 

“I feel like this is a sick joke.” Jongin was trembling now. He struggled to himself under control, but he knew that he was long gone. He knew the signs. He was in the middle of a panic attack. It felt like the thousands of threads of the web were circling around him, drawing nearer and nearer.

 

“Consider it a test,” Key said, finally looking up from his nail beds. “One last test to see if we can really trust you.”

 

“No,” Taemin said, walking back over to face Jongin. He put one hand on the back of Jongin’s neck and stroked the knot at his nape, rubbing soothing circles over the bump. Jongin looked at him in surprise? alarm? and saw something akin to caring staring out of his dark eyes. “Not a test, not really. Consider this me finally giving you the full power you always deserved in Mugunghwa, Jonginnie. You’ve proved yourself to me already. This is just me sealing the deal. You handle Nami and you’re back on. I’m in a rough spot and I need to know if someone else can really take the reigns if something happens to me. You’re the only person I trust to do that. Prove that you can handle the brutality of this world to me, and you’re back on, you’re back in one hundred percent. That’s the only way I’ll take you.”

 

Jongin closed his eyes and tried to still his trembling body. He saw Nami’s case file in his mind’s eye and he saw Jinki’s face, trusting him with this girl’s life.

 

He opened his eyes, making direct eye contact with Taemin. “Then I guess you have me.”

 

Taemin smiled. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

 

Jongin can almost feel the web tighten around his throat.

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive. Sorry everyone, everything is super hectic in my life right now (I'm taking my entrance exams in 2 weeks) so I haven't had much time to write. I've been working on this chapter since February and I'm only just now finishing it up. But the good news is that I'll soon have a bunch of time to write (yay!). I'm going to go back and proof this in a little bit so please excuse any terrible typos! Thanks so much for being patient with me!
> 
>  
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence, gore, trauma and the like

Jongin dreamed of a late night, a familiar room, soft sheets, and the gentle sadness of being alone in bed.

 

He’s sprawled out on his stomach, his body stretching diagonally across the mattress, the comforter twisted around his hips, leaving his upper body completely bare to the late January night. He knows, somehow, that it’s nearly 3 am and he wraps his arms more securely around the pillow cradling his cheek. He’s been coasting in and out of unconsciousness since he’d turned off the lights at around 11. He’s used to it though. It’s always hard to fall asleep when Taemin is gone. Taemin had left two days earlier on a trip to Busan to follow a lead on a big shipment of opioids coming in on a fishing boat from China. Or something like that.  Jongin hadn’t really bothered to pay attention. He’s supposed to come back at some point in the morning. Jongin could hardly bring himself to care about most of Mugunghwa’s business dealings, recently. He did what he had to do--keep track of the inventory, maintain the books, handle most of the benign correspondence--but anything else, anything extra, he completely avoided. Everyone could tell that Jongin’s enthusiasm was dwindling, that he “couldn’t even find a single flying fuck to give” as Key had put it last week, humor playing at the ends of his sentence. That wasn’t completely true though. Jongin _did_ care. Only problem was that he found himself caring about very different things these days.

 

He found himself caring more and more about the morality of it all. The harm and violence that Mugunghwa was inflicting, that _he_ was inflicting upon the world. It had been 3 years since he and Taemin had split off on their own and through a bleeding blend of sheer intensity, manipulation, and Taemin’s aggression, Mugunghwa had fought its way to the top on the streets of Seoul. And with their new status came new battles--more people bent on toppling them from their pedestal by whatever means necessary; more young kids coming in, begging for a warm place to stay, wanting to be a part of the power and brutality. He feels tired, _sick_ , at the thought of all the young lives he’s helped destroy, all the addictions he’s helped feed, all the bodies he’s left alone in dingy apartments, growing cold and contorted from an overdose, all the malleable teenagers that he’s tricked into putting their faith and dreams into a world that will only _rat-tap-tap-tap_ at their hearts until they shatter into a million sharp, sad pieces.

 

Jongin can’t help but think about all the blood Mugunghwa has smeared up and down the streets. He can’t help but think about how much he’d like to wash it all away.

 

He curls his arms tighter around the pillow and presses his face harder into its softness. The sweet, clean smell of Taemin’s shampoo lingers and Jongin breathes in, letting the scent fill his lungs. It makes his chest ache.

 

He misses him.

 

It’s always hard when Taemin leaves, but it’s gotten so, so much harder since the actuality of Mugunghwa had started leak into his nighttime thoughts, seeping in between his fantasies of life with the only person tethering him to the  kkang-pae.

 

On nights like this, Jongin likes to weave bright pastel fantasies of what his life could be, what his relationship with Taemin could look, feel, and taste like if they had met under different circumstances, like if they had been two normal teenagers meeting at hagwon, sneaking away together during the late night snack break to whisper into each other’s necks, or if they had stumbled upon one another at a bar, both of them in their early twenties, their eyes drawn to one another on the dance floor. Sometimes, Jongin dares himself to let his mind wander deep into dangerous territory and he considers what life could be like if he and Taemin left Mugunghwa, together. The two of them living alone in a light filled studio apartment overlooking the Han being able to wake up next to each other every morning, legs intertwined; working normal jobs, maybe Jongin could be a journalist, or maybe a history teacher? Taemin could be a dance teacher? Or maybe they’re both college students, cheering each other on at exam time?; coming home to each other and shuffling around a tiny kitchen, making dinner. Feeling safe, warm. In love.

 

Jongin tries to not get too wrapped up in dreams like those.

 

But all he knows, really, truly, is that he wants to be near Taemin. He knows that that’s his brightest, strongest, _scariest_ dream. He knows that he loves him. And even worse, deep down, he knows that loving Taemin means loving the streets. It means loving Mugunghwa. Because just like the way that the hot absolute of his love for Taemin thrums through his body with the same steadiness of his blood, Mugunghwa has beaten its way into Taemin’s heart, every part of the gang reverberating through his boyfriend’s body. Leaving Mugunghwa means leaving Taemin. There’s no way to separate the two.

 

Jongin raises his head from the pillow to the sound of footsteps and frantic whispering outside his bedroom door. He frowns and sits up. He and Taemin live alone in this apartment. It’s too early for Taemin to back from his trip and Key is the only other person who has a key.

 

The hallway light flicks on and then the bedroom door opens. Jongin squints at the sudden brightness of the light and Key is standing in the doorway, with his hair disheveled and his winter scarf undone, hanging limply around his neck. Jongin can make out the very top of Baekhyun’s head peaking around his shoulder.

 

“Key? What the--”

 

“Get up.” Key throws the bedroom door wide open stalks towards the bed, tugging the sheets off of Jongin. Jongin looks up at his face, his mouth pulled taunt. “We have to go now.” His voice is as tight as his face.

 

Still immobilized by surprise, Jongin glances between Key and Baekhyun who’s still in the doorway, his green parka hanging open. Jongin can see the dull shine of a Glock handle glinting at him from his waistband. Something is wrong.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

Key is rummaging through his closet, pulling out a pair of jeans and a thick black sweatshirt. He throws them at Jongin’s head.

 

“Taemin is hurt,” he explains, urgency thick on his tongue.

 

Jongin makes a sound like he’s choking. His eyes go wide.

 

“We got in an hour ago. He was stabbed outside the main storehouse,” Baekhyun offers from his spot at the door. “In the stomach. It’s not bad, it’s pretty shallow, but he was bleeding pretty heavily.” He looks down at the floor, inspecting something on his shoes. “We had to rush him to one of our medical contacts down the block and they mostly took care of it. He’s still in the warehouse resting.”

 

Jongin feels his stomach twist and he spurs into action, grabbing at the clothes Key gave him and pulling the sweatshirt over his head.

 

“An hour ago?!” he yells, his voice fraying. “Why the fuck didn’t you call me?” He looks at Key desperately. “Why didn’t either of you say anything!” He hops out of the bed and yanks the jeans over his legs.

 

“We didn’t want you to worry and do something stupid before we figured out how to deal with the situation,” Key says. He hands Jongin his coat from where it had been hanging off the back of a chair. Jongin snatches it out of his hands and shrugs it on. He storms past Key and shoves his way past Baekhyun. He’s lacing up his boots when he hears the two of them come up behind him at the door.

 

“What I want to know is how you thought you could handle this goddamn situation without saying anything to me. I’m not a fucking _regular ass gang member_ , Taemin is my --” He bites off the last of his sentence, choosing instead to catch his bottom lip between his teeth. He’s so angry, so scared. His heart has never beaten so quickly. It feels like all the blood in his body is going to burst through his fingertips. He fumbles with the lock on the door, his hands sweaty and uncoordinated, and flings the door open, letting it bang against the wall. He opts out of the elevator and runs to the staircase, reasoning that it will be faster to race down the two flights of stairs to the main entrance. He’s just pushing his way through the glass doors of the main entrance, when the elevator doors ding open and Key and an amused-looking Baekhyun walk out. He catches up to him on the snow covered sidewalk.

 

“I’m parked over here,” he says, pressing the unlock button on his car keys. Jongin opens the backdoor and dives in, slamming the door shut behind him. Key slides into the passenger seat and  Baekhyun gets into the driver-side and starts the engine, backing out of the parking space. Jongin stares down at his cuticles, trying to ignore the rough churning in his stomach.

 

“He’s alright, Jongin,” Key says, turning around in his seat. There’s a softness around his dark eyes. “He’s gonna be fine.”

 

“We got the guy who did it too,” Baekhyun says, not taking his eyes off the road.

 

Jongin nods and breathes through his nose, hard.

 

“Ok.”

 

The dream warped and Jongin is crouching down next to the tiny bed in the backroom of the cluttered warehouse, clutching at Taemin’s sweaty hand. Taemin opens his eyes and smiles at him, his black hair sweaty and matted across his forehead. There’s dried blood smeared across his cheek and he’s wearing a gray hoodie that Jongin doesn’t recognize. It’s unzipped just enough that Jongin can see that he’s not wearing anything underneath.

“Hey Jonginnie,” he says. Taemin sits up and twines his fingers into the spaces between Jongin’s own. “Did Key bring you here?”

 

For the first time since Key and Baekhyun burst into his bedroom, Jongin feels the rapidfire beat of his heart slow down. He gets up from where he’s crouched and squeezes next to Taemin on the bed. He leans over and kisses him full on the mouth, desperate to feel the familiar softness. Taemin kisses him back, gently, and then smiles against his mouth.

 

“Are you worried?” he says, pulling away and staring into Jongin’s eyes, reading the panic reflected there. “I’m ok, baby. It’s really not that bad. He caught me off guard.”

 

“Of course I’m fucking worried.” Jongin pushes gently against Taemin’s shoulder, making him laugh. “You were stabbed! You’re not supposed to get ‘caught off guard’, Taemin. What the hell is wrong with you?!”

 

Taemin squeezes Jongin’s hand and unzips his hoodie the rest of the way with his other hand. It falls open to reveal a patch of white gauze and medical tape about 4 inches long adorning the side of his abdomen. Jongin stares but sighs in relief. It’s not bloody. It really doesn’t seem all that bad.  “Don’t be dramatic,” Taemin says, his eyes dancing. “It’s not like this hasn’t happened before.”

 

Jongin pushes all of the air out of his lungs and squeezes Taemin’s hand back, hard. Taemin is right. This _isn’t_ the first time that this has happened. He’s pretty sure that Taemin has been shot at more times than the two of them can remember, and he had been stabbed in the thigh late last year, causing a wound much worse than he one he has now. Jongin has run his hands over the thick, shiny scar more times than he can count.

 

“I know,” Jongin says. “I’m just tired of seeing this happen to you. I love you. It scares the shit out me to see what people do to you.”

 

Taemin presses his face into Jongin’s neck and exhales hard, making Jongin shudder.

 

“You never know,” Taemin says, his voice playful, “Maybe I deserve it.”

 

Jongin goes very, very still. Taemin notices and laughs. He kisses the junction of Jongin’s neck and shoulder.

 

“Breathe, Jonginnie, I’m joking.” he says into his skin. “You’re always so anxious.”

 

“I don’t want to think about you like that,” Jongin runs his fingers through Taemin’s hair. It’s oily and Jongin can feel the slick against his fingertips. “You’re not that type of person to me.”

 

Taemin slides down so that he’s laying down again, his head in Jongin’s lap. Jongin places his hands back into his hair.

 

“But I am that type of person,” Taemin murmurs into his thigh. “I’m not good. I’ve done some really shitty things.” He frowns. “Some really evil things.”

 

“You’re good to me.” Jongin is defiant. “You’re always good in my eyes.”

 

Taemin sighs, long and tired.

 

“Jongin. . . .”

 

“What if it didn’t have to be this way?” Jongin is speaking quickly now, the words flying like sparks from his tongue. “What if you got to be good all the time? What if everyone got to see you the way I see you?”

 

Taemin looks up at Jongin, an unreadable expression on his face.

 

“What are you trying to say, Jongin?”

 

“We could leave, Taemin.” Jongin grips at Taemin’s hair, as if trying to hold him fast, like he’s afraid that he’s going to slip away if he lets go. “We could leave Mugunghwa. We could go away together. We could be happy, _normal_. I--” he chokes on his words. “We. . . wouldn’t have to be afraid anymore.”

 

Taemin is silent and Jongin looks down to see that he’s closed his eyes, the rest of his face smooth and blank.

 

“Are you unhappy?” Taemin’s voice is small, slow, and even. His eyes stay closed.

 

Jongin opens his mouth, closes it, and then nods, even though he knows Taemin can’t see him.

 

“Yes.” It hurts to say outloud. “I mean--I’m happy when I’m with you. I’m happy knowing that you’re a constant part of my life. I _love_ _you_. But that’s. . . .”

 

“That’s not enough?” Taemin’s eyes are open now and he’s staring at a spot just above Jongin’s head. “You want more.” It’s not a question. Taemin says it like it’s a fact he’s always known.

 

“I just want you.” Jongin’s chest aches. “You all the time, and only you. I want you to be a part of my life. I want life to be easy and beautiful and gentle and I want to be happy and I want you to be there. I want you to be whole and safe and I want to love you, _keep loving you_ every day. Every fucking day, Taemin. All the damn time.” He’s breathing heavily now, like all the air in his body left with his admission. He glances down again, and sees the way that Taemin’s mouth is rigid and the softness in his eyes.

 

“Jonginnie. . . .” Taemin’s voice is almost a whisper. “I--”

 

“Taemin!” The door bangs open and they both jump. Baekhyun stalks into the room, his long index fingers thrust through the belt loops on his jeans, tugging down the waistband ever so slightly. He pauses when he sees the tense way the couple is pressed together on the bed. He quirks an eyebrow.

 

“Did I interrupt something?” he asks, almost coy, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

 

Taemin shakes his head and then sits up, too quickly, wincing at the way his body stretches. Jongin reflexively reaches out to him but Taemin shrugs away from the contact. He keeps his eyes fixed on Baekhyun.

 

“No, it’s nothing,” he says, easing himself up from the bed. He grimaces again and touches two fingers to where his wound is. “What is it, Baekhyun?”

 

“Taehyung and Minho brought the kid in. He’s in the back. I figured you’d want to deal with him.”

 

Taemin nods. “Yeah, I do. Thanks.” He turns back to Jongin. “Come on, Jonginnie.”

  


They follow Baekhyun down the narrow hallway, made long and winding by Jongin’s dream, into the tiny bathroom at the very end. Key is already waiting for them inside and Jongin looks into the shower to see a scrawny teenager with sallow, pock marked skin sitting in the shower stall. His hands are bound with duct tape and his long hair, straw yellow from a bad bleach job, is hanging into his eyes. He looks terrified. He can’t be any older than 15.

 

“This him?” Taemin asks.

 

“Yeah,” Key says. “Minho says that they found him a few blocks away from where he stabbed you. He was trying to hide behind some dumpsters. Apparently he’s affiliated with minor drug dealers in Sinsa. He’s Chinese and hardly knows any Korean, so don’t even bother trying to question him.”

 

Jongin frowns.

 

“If he doesn’t speak any Korean, then how do you know it was him?” he asks.

 

“I know who stabbed me,” Taemin said. “I was able to get a good look at him when he ran off. This is the guy.”

 

Baekhyun comes up next to Taemin and untucks the gun from his waistband, handing it to him.

At the sight of the gun, the boy begins to cry.

 

A cold realization hits Jongin. “You’re not gonna. . .?” Jongin looks at Taemin incredulously. “Taemin, he’s just a kid!”

 

“He’s a kid who tried to kill me,” Taemin says, matter-of-factly. “What other choice do I have but to kill him, Jongin? How else will I send a message?”

 

“This probably wasn’t even his idea! You know that one of his higher ups put him up to this!” Jongin bites his lip. “This is really fucked up.”

“Taemin is right,” Baekhyun offers with a shrug. “You can’t be soft with people like him. Come on, Jongin, this isn’t news to you. This is what we do.”

 

Jongin knows that he’s gaping at them, and he knows that he looks stupid. But he can’t quell the uneasiness stirring in his gut.

 

Taemin grips the gun in his right hand and points it at the boy. His wails get louder and he tries to scramble further away, pressing his back against the gray shower tile. Taemin takes aim and then, lowers the gun. He turns away and faces Jongin instead. There’s a blank look on his face, a special type of emptiness that only seems to slip into place in situations like this one.

 

“Actually,” Taemin says, “Jongin. I want you to do it.”

 

“ _What_.” Taemin is joking. He has to be. This is all a sick, twisted joke.

 

Taemin presses the full body of the gun against Jongin’s chest. Jongin reflexively wraps his hands around the handle.

 

“You do it,” Taemin repeats. His voice is eerily level, calm. “It’s always me who does these things. You’re as much in charge as I am. Mugunghwa is as much yours as it is mine.”

 

“Taemin, he’s just a _kid_ .” Jongin clutches the gun helplessly. He glances from Key to Baekhyun, frantically, desperately, pleadingly. Baekhyun darts his eyes away the second they make eye contact, choosing instead to stare at the dirty bathroom tiles, his mouth set in a grim line. Key frowns, his face hard, but he says nothing. “I--I can’t do this. I _don’t_ do this.”

 

“Why not?” Taemin is staring at him, looking at him like he’s trying to see down to Jongin’s bones. “Why is this the one thing that you’re going to say no to? Why is this too much?”

 

“Because I don’t kill people! I can’t kill people, Taemin,” Jongin is pleading with him. “That’s too much. That’s what--” Jongin bites his lip.

 

“‘That’s what I do’?” Taemin guesses the last of Jongin’s sentence. “It’s too much for you, but not too much for me? Is that it?”

 

“No. . .yes. . .?” The room suddenly feels too hot, despite the January cold creeping in through the cracked window.

 

“I do some fucked up shit, Jongin. And this shouldn’t all just be my burden to carry. Mugunghwa is _ours_. I’m carrying too much terrible for one person.” Taemin’s gaze is unwavering. “Help me carry it, Jonginnie. Share this life with me, _this one_. Love me in that way.”

 

Jongin gapes at him, unsure of how to respond. He feels his body still and the room goes completely quiet; the sounds of harsh breathing, the whimpering cries of the boy, the drip-drip-drip of the leaky faucet fading out into a close and complete silence. Jongin grips the gun and places his finger on the trigger and walks in close to where the kid is crumpled on the floor. Based on the way his mouth is moving, Jongin can tell that he’s still whimpering but he doesn’t--can’t-- hear the desperate pleas coming from his mouth. Jongin points the glock at his head and the boy freezes, his eyes going wide with fear and shock. He looks even younger like this.

 

_Loving Taemin means loving Mugunghwa._

 

Jongin closes his eyes and then pulls the trigger.

All of the sound in the room rushes back in with the loud _pop_ of the gunshot. There’s the boy’s garbled scream, cut short, just as the bullet makes contact with skull with a wet _crack_. There’s the gross _splat_ as blood shoots out across the tile and ricochets back to splash across Jongin, staining his clothes, the dull _thud_ of the body crumpling against the shower tiles, the rough _rasp_ of Jongin’s own breathing, the electric _buzz_ of the fluorescent bulb up above. It’s all too loud for Jongin. He’s standing over the body, taking in the way the boy’s legs are splayed out and the way his head is a bloody, pulpy mass, the image throwing him back to standing at the foot of Jaejoong’s bed in that very first warehouse so long ago, watching his hyung’s body grow cold. He begins to shake violently, and the gun drops out of hands and clatters to the floor. His knees buckle and he goes down, collapsing next to the body, the still warm blood soaking into his jeans. His stomach twists, turns, and he gags.

 

There’s a hand on his shoulder and Jongin flinches away so aggressively that he feels every bone in his body lurch.

 

“Jonginnie.” Taemin’s voice is soft, soothing. The other man crouches down next to him and cups the back of his head with one hand, drawing his face close. He presses his lips--softly, briefly--against Jongin’s own. “It’s ok. You did the right thing. You did so well.”

 

Jongin squeezes his eyes shut and pulls away. The trembling is getting worse and he’s shaking so badly that his teeth are chattering.  He clutches at his blood damp knees, curling his nails into the fabric. _I killed someone_ , he thinks, screams to himself. _I killed someone. I’m a murderer. I killed someone. Me. I did it. I killed him. I killed someone. He’s dead._  It feels like his mind is ripping away from his body, like he’s splintering in two.

 

There’s another hand on his shoulder.

 

“Jongin. . .” Taemin says again. Jongin opens his eyes and sees Taemin leaning in close again, so close that he can feel the warmth of his breath on his cheek. Jongin stares at him, like he’s seeing him, _really_ seeing him for the first time and he’s wide eyed, wild and afraid. “Jongin, let me--”

 

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Jongin clenches his right hand into a fist and propels himself forward, punching Taemin squarely across the mouth. Key lets out a shout and Taemin is reeling backwards narrowly avoiding falling on top of the body, his hand cupped over his mouth. He’s staring at Jongin incredulously.  

 

There’s a burst of light and pain and Jongin is splayed out backwards with Taemin standing over him, clenching and unclenching his hand. There’s a watery combination of surprise, anger, and hurt swimming in his eyes. His mouth is red with blood and he spits on the floor and wipes at his mouth with the back of his mouth, smearing blood all over his chin and cheeks.

 

“Get up,” he says. His voice is hard. “You wanna fucking punch me, then get up and fight me like you mean it.”

 

Jongin pushes himself up and throws his whole body at Taemin, smacking him against the shower wall. His head bounces off of the tile and Jongin watches him wince. His body wilts under Jongin’s hands, like all the fight, all the fire has ebbed out of Taemin’s body. Jongin takes him by his shoulders and shoves him back into the wall, hard, and then does it again and again, banging Taemin against the tile, relishing in the way his body flops and cracks. A bright rose of blood blooms on the wall behind Taemin’s head and it spurs Jongin on, all of his feelings towards Taemin afire and burning hotter and stronger than they ever have, until nothing but the cold, dark ash of betrayal, hurt, and fear remain.

 

He feels himself being tugged backwards into Baekhyun’s chest, the smaller man’s arms wrapped around his torso in a vice-like grip.  Key has both hands pressed against Jongin’s chest, pushing back him into Baekhyun. Jongin squirms and kicks, trying to free himself.

 

“Let me go!” he shouts. “Fuck, Baekhyun, let me go!” He feels so hot, like his whole body is about to burst into flames. Baekhyun grunts with effort but his grip holds fast.

 

“I’m not letting you kill two people tonight,” Key says, looking straight into Jongin’s eyes. Jongin has never seen him look so serious and he slows his thrashing, his emotions simmering down.

 

Jongin chances a glance over Key’s shoulder and he sees Taemin sitting on the dirited floor, his own blood dripping down from his scalp on to his forehead, the bright red contrasting dangerously with the black of his hair and the pale white of his skin. There’s a dazed look on his face and Jongin sees the confusion and pain splashed across his features. He sees the tears running down his face.

 

A cold sickness washes over him and Jongin chokes and then vomits all over Key’s shoes. Key springs backwards in revulsion and Jongin breaks free. He staggers over to the bathroom door and stumbles out, ignoring the voices calling out after him.

 

He’s outside before he realizes it. The sky is still that icy winter pitch black even though it must be nearing 6 am. And it’s cold. So cold. Jongin had left his winter coat behind in the bedroom and now the only thing protecting him from the January air is his thin hoodie. He pulls the hood up over his head and tugs the sleeves of his sweater over his hands and then shoves them in his jean pockets. He starts to walk; his head down, his body shivering, and his heart completely numb. Maybe this is what heartbreak feels like.

 

\---

Jongin woke up with a start, his body slick with sweat. His body felt sore and disoriented and he sat up from the sleeping bag and looked around, trying to get a handle on his surroundings. The small room, the close walls and the old card table come into focus and he remembers. It’s not winter. He’s in the warehouse. He’s in charge of Nami. He’s not alone. Jongin glanced in the opposite corner.

 

Nami was still there, staring at him intensely with her bright brown eyes.

 

Key had pulled three sleeping bags out of another room after Taemin had left and handed them to Jongin, saying that he had to leave for a bit to take care of some other business but that he’d be back soon. That must have been almost 3 hours ago. Figuring that there was no way for Nami to get out, Jongin had taken the opportunity to get some rest.

 

Jongin got up and untied the gag around her face. “You were talking in your sleep,” she said.  Jongin’s felt his heart stutter in surprise, then he narrowed his eyes at her.  

 

“Maybe I was.”

 

“Unless you were talking to yourself with your eyes closed, then there really isn’t any ‘maybe’ about it. You were definitely talking in your sleep.” Her voice sounded much older than her fourteen years; sharp and clipped, self-assured. Bold. There was no fear in her voice, despite the fact that she’d been bound and gagged for the better part of 36 hours.

 

“Then I guess I was.”

 

“No. No ‘I guess’.” Nami licked at her lips, chapped and red from the gag. “You were.”

 

Jongin took a step backwards and studied the girl in front of him. She staring at him with a determination that was eerily familiar, a type of steely maturity that threw Jongin ten years back to old factories and shaggy hair and listening to Taemin explain the complicated workings of Cassiopeia to his younger self. The similarities between Nami and Taemin made Jongin’s throat ache.

 

“You don’t seem as afraid as you were when Taemin was here,” he said after a moment.

 

Nami quirked the corner of her mouth.

 

“Taemin-ssi seems like the type of person who likes it when people are afraid of him,” she said. “I was giving him what he wanted.” She looked down at her wrists, still bound together. “Can you undo these too?”

 

Jongin knelt down next to her and started worrying at the knot with his fingers, working at it until it gave way. He unwrapped the cord from around her wrist and then stepped back, studying Nami again.

“Thank you.” She rubbed at her wrists and then massaged her cheeks, marred with angry red welts from where the gag had bitten into her skin.

 

“Anyway,” she said after a moment. “Taemin _is_ pretty scary.” Her hands rose from her face and went to her long hair, which she started to finger comb, her fingers snagging on the knots. “You’re not though.”

 

Jongin had no idea how to respond.

 

“. . . I’m not scary?”

 

“No,” Nami said, matter-of-factly. “You’re easy to read. You don’t want to hurt me. I think you’re more afraid _of me_.”

 

Jongin frowned. Nami wasn’t wrong. He was afraid of her, even if just a little. It was scary just how much she reminded him of Taemin. Hell, it was scary how much she reminded him of himself. He remembered staring down older men when he was her age, a defiant glint in his eyes, he remembered Taemin teaching him how to act hard and talk even tougher just in case he was ever stuck in a scary situation _You never know when your mouth will end up saving your life_ , Taemin had said to him back then. Nami had probably learned the same lesson early on.

 

“I’m not afraid of you,” he said. _Talk tough, talk tough_. “But I’m quickly learning that I don’t like you. And the more that I don’t like you, the more that I know that I won’t care whether or not I hurt you.”

 

Jongin stared at Nami, not breaking her gaze. She stared back, matching his eyes with her own clear, bright ones.

 

“You won’t hurt me,” she said.

 

“You don’t know that for sure.”

 

She studied him for another beat. Jongin struggled to keep his face neutral as her eyes roved over him.

 

“You’re right. I don’t.” Nami’s voice is scarily calm.  “But I know that Taemin would hurt me. And I know that you’re nothing like him.”

 

 _The fuck is up with this kid_.

 

“I may not be like him, but he still left me to handle you.” Jongin put his hand on Nami’s head and pushed down hard, causing her to flinch. He hoped she didn’t feel the way his fingers were trembling. “That means he trusts me. So it doesn’t really matter how similar he and I are. What matters more is the fact that he trusts in my differences enough to know that I can still take care of this situation--” he pulled her head back by her hair, forcing her to make eye contact with him. She yelped in pain. “--in a way that he approves. So don’t test me. Understand?” The sharp arrogance in Nami’s eyes flashed then faded, and was replaced instead with a blank look.

Jongin yanked harder when she didn’t respond. “Understand?” he said again.

 

Nami winced and closed her eyes in pain. “Understood.”

 

_Talk tough._

 

There’s a click behind them, and the door swung open, ushering in a disgruntled looking Jimin and Key who was carrying two take out bags.

 

“I brought food,” Key announced, hoisting up the bags. “And Jimin.”  He narrowed his eyes at Nami. “You untied her?”

 

“There was no real reason to keep her all tied up like that,” Jongin said. “It’s not like she can go anywhere.” He glanced down at Nami who had averted her gaze and was now staring at the floor.

 

Key frowned at him and set the bags down on the card table. “Ok, I guess. Do what you want.” He nodded at Jimin. “Start divvying all this up.”

 

Jimin made a face. “Why me?!”

 

“Because you’re the youngest and that’s what you’re _supposed_ to do.”

 

Jimin grumbled and started taking plastic containers and bowls out of the bags. Jongin’s stomach grumbled at the appearance of jajangmyeon and kimbap. He watched as Jimin divided the noodles into three bowls, filling them to the brim. He shared the kimbap between the four bowls, placing the majority of the three rolls in the three bowls and then placing three pieces in the fourth empty bowl.

 

“Here.” Jimin took one of the bowls with the noodles for himself and then pushed the other two in the direction of Key and Jongin. He reached into the plastic bag, took out a pair of chopsticks and went over into the corner of the room, sat down, and started in on his food, ignoring everyone else.

 

Key grabbed the two other bowls and handed one over to Jongin before digging around in the plastic bag and drawing out two pairs of chopsticks.

 

Jongin accepted the chopsticks and then examined the bowl full of food in his hands. He looked at the mostly empty bowl of kimbap left on the table.

 

“Is that for Nami?”

 

Key shrugged. “Guess so.” He quirked an eyebrow at the expression on Jongin’s face. “What? You didn’t expect us to give her jajangmyeon too, did you? This shit is the good stuff from the place downtown, hell _I_ almost never get to have it.”

 

Jongin put his bowl back on the table and pulled the bowl of kimbap towards him. He separated his chopsticks and dished half of his portion of noodles into the other bowl. He grabbed the last pair of chopsticks and brought the bowl over to Nami who was still crouched in the corner.

 

“Here you go,” he said, kneeling down to her level. She looked up at him with her large, quick eyes and took the bowl and chopsticks. “The kimbap is kinda buried under the noodles now--sorry about that. It should all still taste ok though.”

 

Nami nodded at him in thanks, her mouth set firmly in an unreadable line. Jongin got up from his crouch and turned around. Key and Jimin were both staring at him.

 

“What?” Jongin said. He walked over to the table and reclaimed his food.

 

Key made a face and then sighed.

 

“Alright. Out into the hall we go.” He grabbed Jongin’s forearm with his free hand. “Bring your food.”

 

“Wait, what about me?” Jimin said.

 

Key opened the door and lightly shoved Jongin through the threshold. “You stay here,” he called over his shoulder. “Keep an eye on the hostage.” He shut the door behind them.

“Um. Key?”  Jongin watched as the older man started walking down the dark hallway.

 

Key didn’t respond but kept walking down the hallway. Jongin had no choice but to follow.

 

Key stopped at a door towards the end of the hall and turned the old handle, shoving his shoulder into the door to get it to creak open.

 

Jongin crossed the threshold just as Key flicked the lightswitch. The bare bulb hanging from the ceiling came to life with a worrisome crackle, illuminating what seemed to be an storage closet filled will old, dusty wooden crates.

 

“You brought me here?” Jongin said as he took in the cramped space. “If you wanted to be in a claustrophobic space, we could have just stayed where we were.”

 

Key didn’t respond but instead sighed dramatically and sat down on one of the crates and patted the spot next to him. “Sit.”

 

Jongin perched himself on the edge, turning his body so that he was facing Key. Key finally separated his chopsticks and started eating. “You should finish that before it gets cold.”

 

The two men sat in silence, finishing their food. Jongin ate quickly, inhaling the noodles and kimbap faster than he should. He was so hungry. It felt like he hadn’t eaten in days.

 

“You’re too gentle with her,” Key said, catching Jongin just as he lifted another mouthful of food to his mouth. Key’s own bowl was empty, his chopsticks lined up neat and parallel along the edge of the bowl.

 

Jongin swallowed and set his bowl down. “What do you mean?”

 

“You’re too easy on Nami. Giving her extra food like that--she’s going to know that you’re soft.”

 

“Was I supposed to just let her starve? That’s not right.”

 

Key leaned back, letting his back rest against the old factory wall. He studied Jongin carefully, slowly, as if taking him all in. Jongin grew hot under the other man’s stare.

 

“This isn’t a chance for you to atone for what you did last time, Jongin.”

 

Jongin doesn’t quite know what to say.

 

“That’s not what this is, Key,” he said after moment. “I just. . . I don’t want to hurt her any more than I have to.”

 

“No.” Key’s tone is harsh. “The real issue is that you don’t want to hurt her at all. You’re really soft Jongin. You weren’t meant for any of this, not really. I thought you’d made that clear--clear to us, clear to yourself--when you left. Unless.” Key leaned forward, breaking into Jongin’s space. “Unless that’s something you’ve forgotten. Or unless that’s something you’re trying to forget.”

 

“I didn’t forget.” Jongin cut his gaze away from Key’s own, choosing instead to stare at the slats in the crate. “And I’m not trying to forget. Not at all.”

 

“Then what the fuck are you doing, Jongin? You don’t just fucking kill someone, try to kill your boyfriend, the person who you said was your _life line_ , run away and then just come back and try to act like nothing happened. You can’t act like nothing changed when you’ve changed most of all. It doesn’t fucking add up.”

 

Jongin clenched his fists and looked back up at Key whose face was curled into one of _those_ Key looks--the ones that Jongin remembered so well from his childhood. The looks that always appeared when Key was trying to figure something out. Key always figured it out.

 

“I don’t--I don’t know what to tell you.”

 

“That’s because you’re hiding something,” Key said. “Don’t try to deny it. I knew that you were hiding something from the second you reappeared.”

 

“Then I won’t.”

 

Key was silent, his eyes steady on Jongin’s face. Jongin stared back, trying his best to keep the panic that was rising in his chest from appearing on his face. Key lifted the hem of his shirt and pulled out a switchblade with red handle. He flicked it open, the blade glinting in the light.

 

“Tell me,” Key said, pointing the blade towards Jongin. “I’m going to let you tell me what you’re hiding rather than have you sit here and listen to me list off everything I know. Ah nope, don’t try to deny anything” Key said when Jongin opened his mouth. “Do you really think I haven’t known all along? Really _Kim Kai_? It’s my fucking job to know everything. I’m not known for being bad at my job.”

 

Jongin swallowed hard, trying to keep the jajangmyeon that he’d just eaten from shooting back up his throat. He should have known that Key would have found out. Key always finds a way to make sure that he knows everything.

 

“How long have you known?” Jongin said instead, his voice measured.

 

Key shrugged. “Ever since Taemin told me to track you down. So long enough. It wasn’t easy. I had to hack into the _Times_ computer network and dig around in their files but after a while I found out that you write under an alias as well. Investigative journalism, huh? Fancy.”

 

 _Fuck_. Jongin clenched his hands into fists and stared down at the dust on the crate. He had never had his cover blown before. He didn’t have a back-up plan for this, he didn’t know _what to do_. He chanced a look up and saw the glint of the switchblade that Key was now twirling between his fingers with a practiced grace. There was no way out of this one.

 

“Yeah,” Jongin said, looking straight at Key. “Investigative journalism is kinda fancy.”

 

Key rolled his eyes. “You’re going to play difficult aren’t you? Ok. Let’s start small. Who’s car did you get into yesterday morning?”

 

Jongin skipped a breath. “What?” There was no way that Key had seen him go into the alleyway.

 

“Don’t play dumb. I saw you when I came to get you. You slipped out of your apartment just when I was driving up. I’m not stupid. I followed you. Now--” Key stabbed the blade of his knife into the crate, the noise making Jongin flinch, “you can tell me who's car that was or I can tell it to you.”

 

Jongin knew this game. He’d watched Key play it countless times with rival kkang-pae when he had still been with Mugunghwa. Key was a master at toying with emotions, at tuning other people’s emotions until they sang exactly the way he wanted them to. The food, the separate room, the picking into his uneasiness about his past--Jongin realized that he’d been played from the start.

 

Jongin sighed. And remained silent. It takes two to play a game.

 

Key watched him with unreadable eyes, his hands going back to the switchblade, plucking it out of the old wood. Jongin fixed his eyes on a stain on the wall just above Key’s right shoulder.

 

“Ok, then,” Key said, breaking the silence. “I guess I’m doing all the talking. I ran the license plate of the car you got in. It came back registered under Nam Seunghoon. After that, I knew. Nam Seunghoon is the name that all the Seoul PD cars are registered under. You’d think they’d be better about keeping their undercover cars, _undercover_ but honestly, I’m not surprised by their incompetence.” He shrugged again.  “You’re working for them.”

 

Jongin swallowed, his mouth extremely dry. “I am.”

 

“Are you a narc?”

 

“Not exactly.”

 

“‘Not exactly,’” Key spat his words back at him, his voice high and mocking. “So are you _kind of_ a narc then?”

 

“Yeah. Sort of.”

 

“You’re not making this easy, Kim.”

 

“I’m an investigative journalist, ok? I usually go undercover and report on scandals and corruptions--white collar crime. But this time, I got pulled into collaborating with the Seoul PD and reporting on the kkangpae. I’m supposed to figure out what the fuck is causing the spike in violence and help break up Mugunghwa.” Jongin bit back a smile. It all sounds so ridiculous when he says it outloud. Especially when he’s sitting across from one of the most dangerous people in Mugunghwa. He can’t help but smile.  “It’s fucking crazy, right? I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want to do this.” Jongin’s fists are clenched even tighter.

 

“But yet you’re here.”

 

“Yes,” Jongin’s voice was quiet. “Here I am.”

 

Key snapped the switchblade shut and then crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“Why did you agree to do this?” he asked.

 

“I-I don’t know,”Jongin responded. “I didn’t want to. I tried to fight it.”

 

“Not very hard,” Key said, pointedly. “If you had, then you wouldn’t be here.”

 

Jongin sighed heavily. “You’re right. I. . .don’t know why I agreed to this.”

 

Key narrowed his eyes at him. “Do you want my opinion?”

 

“You’re going to give it to me no matter what I say.”

 

Key laughed. “You’re right.” He cleared his throat. “I think you agreed to this because a part of you wanted to come back. A part of you wanted to see Taemin again.”

 

Jongin kept his eyes on the wall.

 

“What?” Key said. “You’re not going to respond?”

 

“There’s no point,” Jongin murmured. He pulled his eyes back to Key’s face. He was frowning.

“Maybe not.” Key sighed. “Look, I’m not really sure what to do with the fact that you came here to break this all up. There’s no way that you would have succeeded. I think you knew that yourself. And to tell you the truth--Mugunghwa is splintering. It’ll probably all come crumbling down without your meddling. That is--if you ever really get around to meddling.”

 

Jongin didn’t know what to say.

 

The two men sat and stared at one another in silence, the soft buzzing of the light bulb the only sound between them.

 

“So what are you going to do?” Jongin said, uncertainly. “You haven’t told Taemin?”

 

“I haven’t,” Key said, agreeing. “And I’m not going to do anything. I don’t think.”

 

“Nothing?” Jongin was wary. It would be just like Key to lie about this just to mess with him. “You’ve killed people for smaller things that what I’m trying to do.”

 

Key hummed in agreement but didn’t say anything, choosing instead to lean against the old factory wall.

 

The silence settled back in between them and a thick uneasiness fills Jongin’s lungs, making it hard for him to breathe.

 

“Tell me where you went after you left,” Key said, finally.

 

Jongin exhaled hard. He hadn’t been expecting that.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I want to know.”

 

“Maybe it’s not any of your business?”

 

Key rolled his eyes. “Jongin, most of your business is already my business.”Key put a hand on top of one of Jongin’s clenched fists. “Just do me the favor and just fill the few blanks that I have.”

 

Jongin bit his lip and sighed. He nodded. He had nothing else to lose now.

 

“Jongdae-hyung found me,” Jongin began, his voice small. He wrapped his arms around his torso and shivered, remembering the cold January air and his loneliness. “I’d been outside for 2 days when he found me. I’d walked along the Han nonstop after. . . it happened. I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I just kept walking.” Jongin kept his eyes on the stain on the wall. “I’m surprised that no one stopped me when they saw me walking, what with the way that I was covered in blood. But I just kept going until I ended up in a park somewhere in Nowon. I don’t even remember how I got there. But Jongdae had been walking through the park and he saw me sitting on a bench and he recognized me.”

 

“I haven’t thought about Kim Jongdae in years,” Key said. “I’d almost forgotten that he existed.”

 

“And I’m sure he’d like it if it stayed that way,” Jongin responded. “When he found me, he was a student at Induk University. He was finishing up his second year in a teaching program. He’s an elementary school teacher now. He’s really turned his life around. It was just luck that I ended up in Nowon and that Jongdae recognized me. I don’t really remember what he said when he came up to me--I was too cold, too delirious. But somehow, I ended up in his tiny apartment. Jongdae was just as ridiculously nice as he had been back in Cassiopeia and he let me stay at his place for a while. He had a roommate, Oh Sehun.” Jongin smiled at the memory, remembering Sehun’s towering height and handsome face.  “He was around my age and was an architectural engineering student at Kwangwoon University. Came from _serious_ money but was really modest about it and was really chill with me being there.”

 

“How long were you there?”

 

Jongin shrugged. “Like 8 months. It took me a while to feel. . . normal again. To feel normal at all, really. Jongdae and Sehun were so _normal_ , so regular. I’d never been around normal, not even when I was a little kid. I had. . .to learn how. . . to readjust. It took me a while--for the first month I could barely sleep and when I finally did fall asleep, I’d have terrible nightmares. Like the murder would play over and over again in my dreams or I’d have these crazy, violent dreams that Taemin was going to come after me. That he was going to find me and kill me. I’d wake up screaming and Jongdae would have to talk me down--tell me that nothing bad was going to happen. That no one was going to come after me.” Jongin laughed, quietly, remembering the concerned frown on Jongdae’s face as he wrapped his arms around Jongin and whispered soothing words into Jongin’s hair as his body shook to pieces. “You know, he never asked what I was dreaming about. He never even asked what’d happened for him to find me freezing on a bench, covered in two day old blood. Jongdae’s just good like that, you know? It took me a long time to believe him, but after like 4 months, I started to feel ok. Ok enough that I wanted to try to find a job.” Jongin paused and took a deep breath. He felt so tired.

 

“And?” Key was still studying Jongin’s face intently, his expression unreadable.

 

“And it was really difficult. No one wants to hire a kid who hasn’t even finished elementary school. But Sehun’s family is crazy connected and he heard from his dad that there was someone at the _Times_ who needed a Local Events intern. I applied and Sehun persuaded his dad to put in a good word for me. I went to the interview and somehow, they really took an interest in me.” Jongin smirked. “They said that they ‘admired my perspective on the world.’ So I got the job. I ended up doing a lot of research assignments and wrote a lot of memos for the journalist I was assigned to. Then I got promoted--got a real position and started writing for Local Events. And then I caught the attention of the head of the investigative journalism department--” Jongin thought of Daehwa and how angry he was going to be when he found out that Jongin had blown his cover. That is, assuming, that he was lucky enough to ever see Daehwa again. “And that’s where I’ve been ever since.”

 

“And Jongdae? Sehun?”

 

“I left their apartment once I got the full time Local Events position. I didn’t want to. . . it didn’t feel right to stay with them any longer, not when they’d done so much for me already.”

 

“And where are they now?”

 

“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to them since I left.” There’s a pang in his chest as Jongin recalled saying goodbye to the pair.

 

 _It’s just easier if I don’t see you anymore. It’ll be easier for me to move on_ , Jongin had said to Jongdae. Jongdae had smiled gently and nodded. _I understand._

 

“Jongdae-hyung sent me an email when he got his job as a teacher two years ago. But aside from that, I have no idea.”

 

“And fast forward a few years and now you’re back. Sitting right in front of me like nothing has changed.” Key raised one eyebrow at Jongin. “That’s kind of funny.”

 

“Yeah,” Jongin said. “I guess it is.”

 

They fell silent again. Jongin fidgeted, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans.

 

“You know,” Key started. His voice wavered and was quiet, slow. “Taemin has never really been the same without you.”

 

Jongin stared at Key, looking him straight in the eyes.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“He never got over you leaving him, you know? It’s like you broke a part of him on that night. I don’t think--” Key paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t think he ever thought that you would leave him.”

 

“I never thought that I _could_ leave him,” Jongin admitted. “I don’t really know how I did it.”

 

“You had been pushed too far,” Key said. “I think deep down, you always knew that you could leave him. But you had to hurt him first. Taemin had hurt you so much while you two were together. I don’t think you realized it then, you two were so tangled into each other. But when he made you shoot that kid--he knew what he was doing. He was making you choose. He wanted you to prove that you loved him, that you were completely his. Problem is, Taemin had never done the same for you. He wanted you to be his. I’m not certain that he ever wanted to be completely yours. But you knew that, didn’t you?”

 

Key’s words bit at Jongin, eating away at his resolve. Jongin bit his lip and stared down at the dusty floor.

 

“I do now,” he said, his voice choked. “I don’t think I’d fully figured it out at the time, but I think I understand that now.”

 

“I think you did know that at the time, at least subconsciously. That’s why you tried to beat the shit out of him after it happened. I think you wanted to hurt him at least as badly as he’d hurt you.”

 

“Do you think it worked?” Jongin’s throat burned with each word.

 

“I think he felt something. Taemin was. . .always off, even before you’d left. You know that. He held everyone at an arm’s length--well, everyone except for you. He was always harsh, but he had never been _cruel_. He was never unpredictable. Now, though. . .” Key trailed off.

“Now, he’s not the same. I don’t think he ever considered that you’d leave him. I don’t think he ever thought that you’d hurt him. Taemin had never learned how to love, Jongin. I think he tried to love you in the only way that he knew how, fucked up as it was. When you left though, when you left and never came back, it broke him.”

Key ran a hand through his hair and pushed all the air out of his lungs in one strong sigh.

“He was really bad right after you left. He isolated himself and  stopped talking for almost 6 months. No one could contact him. I ended up running Mugunghwa mostly on my own. We hemorrhaged members--Baekhyun, Taehyung, and so many others left. Then one day, he came back. He’s even emptier now. He’s irrational and hot headed and he runs into things without thinking. He’s. . . cold. He takes more drugs, he drinks more. Why do you think we got into the lychee trade? It’s not for the money. It’s cause it’s easier for him to get as much as he wants when we deal it.”

Key sighed again. He suddenly seemed so tired.

“Taemin lashes out all the time, he threatens his own members, he kills even more recklessly. Everyday it’s like he’s one second away from imploding. But he’s been. . .better now. Ever since you came back. He’s been. . .softer. But it’s not going to last.”

 

“Why not?” Jongin choked out. His eyes were watery and his throat ached like he’d been crying.

 

“Because nothing lasts with Taemin anymore,” Key chewed on his bottom lip. “Mugunghwa is on it’s last legs, Jongin. Taemin is unstable, we’re _barely_ hanging on to our power. There’s violence everywhere.” He shook his head. “That’s why I don’t really care if you’re here to take us apart. In my opinion, it’s what we _need_. I’m only sticking around because even after all of this, I still care about Taemin. I still care so much about all these stupid motherfucking kkang-pae idiots. We were both raised in a gang, Jongin. You know what it’s like to have a chosen family. I don’t want to abandon them with Taemin. I don’t want to watch them go down with him. Not in the way he’s headed.”

 

Jongin wiped at his eyes. He hadn’t realized that he was crying.

 

“So you want me to break it down for you?”

 

Key smirked. “Let’s get one thing straight. I highly doubt you’ll be able to do anything. But yes. If you can make it happen, I don’t care if you shatter Mugunghwa. I just don’t think you can.”

 

“You don’t think I can?”

 

“Do you think you can?”

 

Jongin hesitated. “I’m. . . not sure.”

 

“Exactly.” Key leaned forward. “You still care about him too much, Jongin. I don’t think you’ve realized, but I can see it. You’ve been gone so long but you’re still holding out for Taemin.”

 

Jongin started to shake his head. “No, I--”

 

“Stop lying to yourself,” Key said, cutting him off. “How can you say that when you’re sitting right in front of me with tears running down your face? I see the way that you look at him, like you’re trying to stop yourself from reaching out for him. I know you two fucked. I know you miss him. You wouldn’t still be here, you wouldn’t have agreed to this thing with Nami if you didn’t still want him.” Key placed one hand on Jongin’s arm, gripping it tightly. “But _damn_ , Jongin, I really wish you didn’t. I keep thinking back to that night and watching you slam Taemin into the bathroom wall and right now all I want is for you to still want to hurt him that badly.”

 

Jongin drew back from Key’s touch and hiccuped, trying to hold back a sob.

 

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

 

“ _Try_ , Jongin.” Key’s words hang heavy in the air between them. “I want you to try.”

 

“Why would you want me to turn you in?” Jongin asked. “Him in? Why would you want this to crumble?”

 

“Everyone else left Cassiopeia early on because they saw that that the end was near. I’ve known that Mugunghwa has been falling apart for a long time now. I know better than to stay this time around. Look, I care about Taemin, I have for years now. If I want to see him live, if I want him to be around to see 30, then he needs this world to be taken from him. He needs to learn how to live another way. Because right now, he’s not living. There’s so little of him left, the real parts of him are so deeply intertwined into this that the only way to get him out is to burn the whole thing down. I‘d rather have you break this up than to have some fucking maniac rival gang murder him in the street.”

 

Key looked down and a rare flash of something resembling fear moved across his face.

 

“I really don’t want to lose another friend,” he said, quietly.  “I’ve lost too many people that I love.” He laughed, softly, uncertainly.  “Can you believe it? I’m only 26 and I feel like I’ve watched all the people I love die.”

 

“But aren’t you afraid? Of what this means for you? You’re likely to get locked up for good.”

 

Key shrugged. “If you made it out unscathed and you’re a fucking whiny baby, then I’ll be fine. Don’t think that I don’t already have an escape plan put together. I’m going to Australia.”

 

Jongin couldn’t help but smile through his tears.

 

“I should have never doubted you, hyung.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive! Sorry this took so long to get out--my life has been a mess (my laptop died, I got really really sick, I'm trying to apply to grad school, etc etc). But I'm back with this super long chapter. There are only like 3 more chapters to go (finally, I know) and I should hopefully, MAYBE be able to get them out in a relatively timely fashion. Ignore my usual typos and I'm sorry about any tense issues. My entire life is one huge tense issue.
> 
> Comments are always and forever appreciated!
> 
> Also if you want to listen along to my writing playlist it's [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLta_BgrlflSvaBuTcprvbaua3vA1J5D7-) it's full of kpop throwbacks and random hip hop and rnb
> 
> And if you ever want to bother me/ask me questions/see what I'm up to, my seldom updated kpop side tumblr is [here](https://transparent-umbrellla.tumblr.com/)


	11. END

Hi All,

In light of Jonghyun's death, I will not be continuing this fic. I can't in good conscience keep writing something where he's a character knowing that he's gone and that he suffered so much. I'm sure he wouldn't have liked for him to be remembered in this way. So this is where Rose Mallow is going to end. I'm sorry that I'm leaving it where I'm leaving it. I have the entire thing planned out so if any of you want to know how it ends, feel free to message me on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/transparent-umbrellla) or something.

4/2/18 update: I got a lot of requests so I wrote out the end and there's a post on tumblr. Go [here](https://transparent-umbrellla.tumblr.com/post/169061324412/rose-mallow-end-post) to read it.

Otherwise take care of yourselves and hold the ones you love close. Rest in peace, Jonghyun. I hope you know that you made the world a much brighter place by you being in it.

**Author's Note:**

> Will be updating pretty slowly. I have a lot going on my life so I'm just writing this to de stress/get back into writing after so long. Please bear with me as I work through this.
> 
> A few things:
> 
> 1) the title comes from the British name of Hibiscus syriacus/mugunghwa which the national flower of South Korea.
> 
> 2) Kkangpae is a general term for gangster/mobster.
> 
> 3) I know nothing about the yakuza or any other type of organized criminal organization. Don't judge me too hard for anything I get wrong. I'm literally just making this up as I go.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you like it/stick with me as I go on this ride. Please comment and let me know how it's going!
> 
> Writing playlist: [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLta_BgrlflSvaBuTcprvbaua3vA1J5D7-). I'm adding to this as I go.
> 
> And if you ever want to bother me/ask me questions/see what I'm up to, my seldom updated kpop side tumblr is [here](https://transparent-umbrellla.tumblr.com/).


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